


Weyrlings

by Mawgrim



Series: Fort Weyr - Eighth Pass [2]
Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Mating Flight (Dragonriders of Pern), Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:20:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26601292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mawgrim/pseuds/Mawgrim
Summary: After Impressing their dragons, D'gar and S'brin move into the weyrling barracks.
Series: Fort Weyr - Eighth Pass [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907281
Comments: 9
Kudos: 13





	1. Trouble in the Barracks

Dragons grew fast. In their first month, they ate, slept and expanded rapidly. It seemed to D’gar that all his waking hours were spent butchering meat, making sure Herebeth didn’t gorge and choke on it, then bathing and oiling his dragon’s hide. Everyone else was in the same boat, of course, although the two brown dragons in the clutch grew steadily larger than their blue and green siblings.

‘Bronzes are even harder work,’ the Weyrlingmaster told D’gar and G’tash cheerfully. ‘You should be glad there wasn’t one in this clutch.’ Kadoth’s failure to produce any bronze hatchlings indicated she might be close to the end of her reproductive life. Still, all of the eggs had hatched and the young dragons seemed healthy enough.

Everyone seemed to find it funny that S’brin - the tallest and heaviest of all the candidates - had Impressed Zemianth, who was dainty even for a green.

‘Think she’s going to be able to carry your weight?’ J’rud joked. His Zurinth was a far more sturdy dragon; a deep green colour, like the seaweed that washed up in the harbour mouth.

‘Yeah, you’ll have to stop eating so much,’ added B’rol, another green rider.

‘I’m not fat,’ S’brin protested.

‘Nope. He’s all muscle.’ D’gar gave a smile. ‘That’s how I like him.’

‘Oh, you two!’ T’mudra grimaced. ‘I know you aren’t allowed to touch now, but some of the things you say to each other when the lights are out is disgusting.’

‘Then don’t listen in.’

‘Can’t really help it when I’m right next to you.’

There must be a good reason for the prohibition on human sexual activity before dragons were mature - it was stated repeatedly in all the Teaching Ballads relating to dragon care - but it wasn’t easy. The really annoying thing was that they weren’t even permitted to cuddle or kiss, presumably in case it led on to other things. Talking dirty at night, thinking about what they’d like to do to each other while taking care of their own needs was as far as they dared to go, especially considering the lack of privacy in the weyrling barracks.

There were a lot of other adjustments to be made to their lives now they’d Impressed. D’gar missed his peaceful times in the archives. Sure, you could still daydream while engaged in all of the physical tasks necessary to look after a young dragon, but there were always people around, chattering and disturbing your train of thought. It made him irritable, especially as the others weren’t particularly thoughtful themselves. D’gar’s nature made him query things too; whenever they were taught something new, he’d consider it for a while, then come up with several questions to ask the Weyrlingmaster, N’teren. He didn’t intend to be annoying, but it became clear after a sevenday or so that it was taken that way.

‘Listen, lad, this training program has been refined over generations. It’s been in use for well over a thousand Turns. I don’t need you to be questioning every little detail, all right?’

This had the effect of making him switch off during a lot of the lessons. He learned the Ballads by heart; he was good at that, but he made up his own mind as to whether or not the information they contained was relevant or useful.

S’brin wasn’t settling in well either. He’d been working with the maintenance crew for several Turns and had been considered by the team leader to be competent at maintaining and diagnosing faults on a wide variety of the Weyr’s plant and equipment. In a single day, he’d gone from being a valued crew member to just another weyrling. Plus, he now had a green dragon.

‘Sharding Weyr stereotypes!’ They were down by the lake again, having been running before the dragons woke. ‘Everyone thinks that because I’ve Impressed a green I’m some brainless idiot.’

‘We both know that’s not the case.’ Admittedly there were some green riders whose only interests in life were gossip and flirting. Every stereotype had some basis in truth, after all. ‘Don’t let it get to you.’

‘I know.’

D’gar had never seen S’brin so downcast. Impulsively, he hugged him. ‘It’s going to be all right. Once we’ve got through this, once we’ve got our own weyr, things will be fine.’

S’brin relaxed into the embrace, then abruptly pulled away. ‘We’d better not be seen doing this. Some of those snitches would love to tell the Weyrlingmaster we’ve been up to things we shouldn’t.’

‘It’s a bit stupid really. I can tell if something’s upsetting Herebeth and I expect it’s the same with you and Zemianth. I’ve a suspicion this whole “can’t touch anyone” business is more to do with keeping the barracks quiet at night and preventing any lover’s squabbles. Arguing and shouting definitely bothers Herebeth.’

‘Zemianth too. She hates loud noises. But we still need to be careful. We don’t want to get a bad reputation.’

The weyrling barracks were fairly full at present. As well as Kadoth’s small clutch, it currently housed Loranth’s earlier Hatching of twenty-seven dragons, now almost five months old and Suderoth’s twenty, who had reached almost eighty percent of their full size. It was nigh on impossible to believe that the tiny hatchlings would be reaching maturity by this time next Turn. Although they wouldn’t be ready to fly for another few months and would need to wait a while longer before they could bear the extra weight of carrying a rider, they were already strengthening their flight muscles. Dragons could walk for short distances, although the disparity in length between their hind and forelegs meant they moved with an ungainly hopping gait. Herebeth - and some of the others - often spread their wings for balance and sometimes even left the ground for short jumps. It was exciting to see the gradual progress that would lead to proper flight.

He told Agarra about all this while they were sitting outside the kitchens during one of her breaks.

‘You know, you sound just like a new mother.’

‘What?’

‘Well, that’s how they go on, especially when it’s their first. Noting down every gurgle and kick, or when the babe begins to crawl.’

‘I hardly think you can compare a baby with a young dragon.’

She chuckled. ‘Don’t sound so sniffy about it. You should hear yourself talk. But I didn’t mean any offence. I’m proud of you both.’

‘Once we’re flying, I’ll take you for a spin around the Bowl.’

‘That would be lovely.’

In addition to their lessons and looking after their dragons, one of the weyrlings’ regular duties was the supply of firestone for Threadfall. They spent a couple of hours each morning grading and bagging the flammable rock. Bronzes and browns could cope with chewing larger chunks than the smaller dragons; the graded bags were then colour coded to make sure no dragon ended up with the wrong sized stone mid-Fall.

‘Here, catch!’ S’brin threw a full bag at D’gar. He caught it easily, pleased at how much stronger he was becoming due to regular training. It was typical of S’brin to use the somewhat tedious bagging up sessions as another way to work out. Exercise was part of the normal weyrling schedule, but S’brin didn’t think they did enough. D’gar passed the bag on to J’rud, who almost dropped it.

‘Hey, you aren’t meant to hurl the bag at someone, just toss it gently,’ he protested.

‘Yeah, like that’s going to happen in the middle of Threadfall.’ S’brin glanced at D’gar, then threw him another one, slightly heavier.

‘We need to be able to catch whatever’s thrown at us. Remember if you drop the bag in the air it could hit someone on a lower level.’ D’gar passed the next bag along, albeit with a tad less force. J’rud staggered a bit, but kept hold of it.

‘Plus, you need to be able to chuck any size bag to the wing riders. Once we can fly _between_ , we’ll be doing that.’

Going _between_ seemed a long way off when their dragons couldn’t even fly yet. Loranth’s clutch were just starting their first, wobbly circuits around the Bowl, not yet with riders. Most mornings, they’d be out practising. Suderoth’s clutch were even further along. The weyrlings had finished making their flying straps and been issued with wherhide riding gear. The Weyrlingmaster and his assistants had taken them on several flights outside the Weyr. The next, crucial step would be when they learned to fly _between_.

‘Wonder how many of this lot won’t come back.’ V’sil, blue Mirlith’s rider was always one to say what others were thinking. ‘Anyone fancy making any bets?’

‘That’s not funny,’ M’rell chided him. ‘It’ll be our turn next.’

‘And when we do, that lot…’ V’sil gestured toward D’gar’s clutchmates, ‘Will be thinking exactly the same.’

The last two classes had got away without any losses but that was probably down to good fortune. D’gar’s time in the archives meant that he’d read a lot more records than most of his clutchmates and he knew that learning how to guide your dragon through _between_ was probably the most dangerous skill they’d have to master as weyrlings.

N’teren didn’t tell his class they were going to go _between_ for the first time until the day the lesson was planned. It helped prevent sleepless nights and too much worry beforehand. Suderoth’s hatchlings had already assembled for regular flight practice when the word got around. The dragons passed the news to each other and very soon the whole Weyr knew that this was it. The twenty dragons took off neatly together; that was something they’d practiced often enough for it to be second nature. Everyone left behind at the Weyr hoped they’d all make it, while at the same time preparing themselves for the worst. It didn’t feel too different from a Threadfall day, D’gar thought. You’d watch the Wings take off and not know how many would come back unscathed.

The theory of going _between_ had already been explained to them. You visualised the place where you wanted to go and sent the image to your dragon, who then did whatever it was dragons did to initiate the process. While engulfed in the scary blackness and cold of _between_ you had to hang on to that image. All being well, you emerged at the place you’d wanted to be after a count of eight. It all sounded very straightforward, but nevertheless, some just didn’t come back from their first attempt. And because they didn’t come back, there was no way of knowing exactly what they had done wrong.

One of the Weyrlingmaster’s assistants attempted to keep them occupied during the morning, although thankfully, he didn’t try to teach anything new, just went over some of the Teaching Ballads relating to dragon care. It was half way through reciting one of these that everyone felt the sense of loss. A split second afterwards, all the dragons in the Weyr - theirs included - let loose with that eerie keen which reverberated through your bones and indicated one of their number had gone forever.

Knowing that nothing useful would get done, the entire class were sent off to the dining hall for klah. They huddled together around their usual table, feeling oddly united by their grief. Loranth’s clutch soon joined them and they waited there until the news got around as to who had been lost.

‘E’tal and Biandalth,’ someone said. D’gar wasn’t familiar with many of Suderoth’s clutch; they were that much older so they didn’t spend much time with the ‘babies’.

‘Brown pair,’ said M’rell. ‘Quiet lad, very sensible.’

‘Wonder what happened?’

‘Who knows. Bit sobering, though. I’ll be shitting myself when it’s our turn.’

That raised a smile from D’gar. Not many of the weyrlings admitted to being scared. ‘Me too.’ Or throwing up, he thought. When he was nervous, it always affected his stomach.

That night, when the glow baskets were shuttered in the barracks, he thought about being lost forever in the darkness of _between_. He’d travelled on dragon back several times when they’d been sent out on expeditions to harvest wild fruits and herbs, so he knew what the experience was like from a passenger’s point of view. That utter sense of nothingness chilled you to the core. How would it feel to be trapped there, unable to see, or hear, or even scream? Would you die from lack of air to breathe, or from the intense cold? How big was the place anyway? Were there frozen corpses of dragons and people floating around inside? What if you hit one on your way through…?

‘Are you still awake?’ S’brin hissed across to him.

‘How did you know?’

‘You don’t sound asleep. What’s wrong?’

‘I was thinking about what happened today.’

‘Try not to.’

‘That’s easy for you to say.’ Not for the first time he wished he could climb in next to S’brin and take comfort in his arms.

‘We’ll be fine. Don’t worry.’

S’brin was always so certain. D’gar had thought at one time that he only said these things to cheer him up, but once he’d got to know S’brin better, he found that he actually believed them. He wished he could have the same easy confidence. ‘How long do you think it takes to die _between_?’

‘I don’t know. And anyone who does can’t tell you.’ He sighed gently. ‘Can’t you just switch off your brain?’

‘It doesn’t work that way.’

‘You’d stop thinking about all that if I was over there with you now.’

‘Yes, but it’s not allowed.’

He heard the bed creak as S’brin sat up. ‘Bugger that. Is Herebeth asleep?’

D’gar checked, although he already knew the answer. ‘Yes.’

‘So’s Zemianth. Move over.’

‘We’ll get into trouble.’

‘Only if someone hears.’

The beds were narrow - deliberately so in all probability - but that just meant they had to snuggle together. Having S’brin so close to him was a delightful torment. Yes, it was lovely to hold him again but it reminded him of all the things they used to do and how much he’d like to be doing those things right now.

‘I bet you aren’t thinking about _between_ any more.’ S’brin’s breath was warm on his neck as he whispered into D’gar’s ear.

‘No. But we shouldn’t be doing this.’

‘We aren’t doing anything. Well, not yet. Besides, what harm is it?’

‘All the Teaching Ballads say it’s wrong.’ D’gar was too near to the edge of the bed. He wriggled closer and because there was so little room, hooked his right leg over S’brin’s thigh to keep himself there.

S’brin obviously took that as encouragement. ‘I’ve missed this.’

‘So have I.’

‘Maybe those Ballads are rubbish. You’re always picking holes in them.’

‘Maybe,’ D’gar agreed. ‘But should we take that risk?’

‘So what’s going to happen? Will our dragons explode or something?’

‘Don’t know about them, but I think I might.’

‘Mmm. I can feel that.’ S’brin’s hands had started wandering.

How could something that felt this good hurt their dragons? D’gar knew for a fact that Herebeth only got upset if he was distressed or upset. He definitely wasn’t distressed right now. Emboldened, he started kissing S’brin and letting his own hands trail down his body. S’brin let out a moan, which he attempted to stifle unsuccessfully.

‘If you two don’t pack that in I’m going to tell the Weyrlingmaster.’ T’mudra piped up from the next bed.

‘If you don’t shut up I’ll knock your block off,’ S’brin snapped back.

‘Dragonriders don’t fight.’

‘Sanctimonious little shit!’

He started to get up, but D’gar stopped him. ‘Don’t. It’s not worth it. Sorry, T'mudra. I was feeling upset about what happened today and S'brin was just trying to comfort me.’

‘Yeah, sounds like it. I bet I know which green in this clutch is going to rise first.’

‘You won’t be so sharding stuffy about sex when your Jassainth decides it’s time. I hope a bronze catches her.’ S’brin sounded annoyed.

‘At least I can wait until then.’

‘Only because no one fancies you.’

D’gar could hear other weyrlings stirring, awakened by the raised voices. Next thing, the dragons would rouse too. ‘Sshh,’ he said. ‘People can hear us. If we aren’t careful, we’re all going be in trouble.’

‘And whose fault is that?’ T’mudra just couldn’t let it drop.

D’gar almost wished S’brin would hit him, if only to shut him up. But then S’brin would get told off again. ‘Look, I said I was sorry. Let’s all quieten down before the dragons get disturbed.’ Maybe he could still salvage the situation.

‘What’s happening?’ A sleepy voice asked. It sounded like G’tash. ‘Folk are trying to sleep in here.’

‘Yeah. Don’t wake my dragon up. She’ll think it’s breakfast time already,’ someone else added.

‘Sorry, everyone,’ D’gar said, thinking frantically. ‘I had a nightmare.’

T’mudra snorted. ‘More like a wet dream.’

‘I told you to shut it.’ S’brin had got out of D’gar’s bed and stood menacingly over T’mudra. ‘Or…’

Whatever it was he had been about to say was cut off by a door opening and a wash of light. The Weyrlingmaster had woken.

‘It’s all your fault,’ T’mudra said, very loudly.

‘Now then.’ His boots scraped on the stone as he came closer, holding a glow basket. ‘What’s whose fault?’ The light illuminated S’brin. ‘And why are you out of bed?

‘Needed a piss,’ he muttered.

‘Hmm.’ He sounded suspicious, swinging the light around to see who else was awake and might be involved in whatever had been going on. He turned on T’mudra. ‘Didn’t I hear you say something when I came in?’

T’mudra at least had the grace not to make things worse. ’S'brin, er, tripped over Jassainth’s tail. Woke me up.’ It wasn’t a bad excuse to come up with on the spur of the moment, but was obviously not true as Jassainth was still sleeping deeply.

‘Well, whatever it was, I’ll deal with it in the morning. Before breakfast, in my weyr, you two.’ He pointed at S’brin and T’mudra. ‘Now, everyone stop gawping and get back to sleep. I don’t want any more disturbances tonight.’ He gave a stern look to everyone within the pool of light cast by the glows before leaving.

‘Now look what you’ve done.’ T’mudra’s disgruntled voice piped up again as soon as the door had closed.

‘Just be quiet. He’ll be listening for any more noise in here.’ S’brin sighed heavily and made his way back to his own bed. ‘Sorry,’ he said quietly to D’gar.

In the darkness, D’gar felt the warmth left behind by S’brin’s body leach away from the side of the bed where he’d been. All of a sudden, he had a greater understanding of what it must be like to be stranded _between_.

Interrupted sleep and residual grief found most of the weyrlings grumpy the following morning. By contrast, the dragons seemed unaffected; they’d keened for the loss of their fellow at the time but had already moved on. Kadoth’s hatchlings were mostly concerned with filling their bellies yet again. It was after the dragons had been fed - but before their human partners had their own breakfast - that S’brin and T’mudra were summoned by the Weyrlingmaster. D’gar had been feeling guilty ever since he woke up.

_Why do you worry?_ Herebeth asked. He was proving a thoughtful dragon, where many of the others were concerned only with eating, sleeping and playing.

_My friend is in trouble. I should be in trouble too._ What had happened was just as much his fault as S’brin’s and it wasn’t right that he should escape the consequences.

_Then go and make it right._

_I will. If I can._ He left Herebeth curled on his couch and headed after them.

‘Hey, where are you off to?’ J’rud called. ‘It’s breakfast time.’

‘I know. I won’t be long.’

At the mouth of the weyr, he paused. Chareth, N’teren’s brown dragon, regarded him solemnly. He could hear voices from behind the heavy curtain separating the dragon’s couch from the inner weyr. Taking a deep breath, he used the knocker to alert them of his presence.

‘Come in.’ The Weyrlingmaster sounded irritable. Well, his sleep had been interrupted too. Plus, D’gar suddenly realised, he must be affected by the loss of one of his charges the previous day.

He brushed past the curtain. S’brin and T’mudra were standing in front of the desk. S’brin looked slightly surprised to see him.

‘Yes, D’gar. What is it?’

‘I should be here as well,’ he said quickly. ‘I’m just as much to blame as S’brin.’ He didn’t know what had already been said, but they hadn’t been here long, so probably not too much.

‘Oh, really. Maybe you’d like to enlighten us on that?’ He sat back, fixing D’gar with a steely gaze.

‘I was upset about what happened yesterday. I couldn’t sleep. S’brin came over to comfort me.’

The Weyrlingmaster raised his eyebrows.

‘Nothing happened…’ D’gar thought he should make that clear.

T’mudra gave a snort.

‘I see. But possibly something might have done if you’d not been disturbed.’

‘Well, yes. And that would have been as much my fault as his, too.’

‘Right. And where do you come into this?’ he asked T’mudra.

T’mudra looked at the floor. ‘I told them to shut up, that’s all. They woke me up, slobbering all over each other.’

‘That’s enough,’ the Weyrlingmaster said. ‘I don’t need the details. Is that what happened?’ he asked S’brin.

‘More or less.’ He glared at T’mudra.

‘Right. I’m not at all happy about this. All three of you will be on midden duty for the next sevenday.’

T’mudra started to protest. ‘I didn’t do anything wrong…’

‘Enough!’ he barked. ‘Unless you want to carry on for another sevenday after that. Right. You can get out now.’ All three of them turned to leave, when he spoke again. ‘Not you, D’gar.’

S’brin gave him a quick look of sympathy, then followed T’mudra out.

‘I’d expect better from you,’ N’teren said when they were out of earshot. ‘Green riders might get up to that sort of thing all the time, but we shouldn’t. Impressing a brown dragon carries a certain degree of responsibility. I’m pleased that you saw fit to own up to what you’d done, but I don’t want a repeat of it. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’ They’d just have to be more careful in future, he thought.

‘Good. In the absence of any bronzes in this clutch, you and G’tash should be setting an example to the others. I hope you aren’t going to disappoint me.’

‘No, sir.’

He carried on staring at D’gar for several seconds, then dismissed him. ‘Right. Go and get your breakfast.’

Midden duty was never popular. In addition to gathering all the kitchen scraps and wheeling them to the compost heap in barrows, they also had to move the dragon dung pile from outside the barracks. Each rider had the responsibility of clearing up after their own dragons while they were still young enough not to do their business elsewhere. The resulting mound had to be carried away to the dung shed, a covered area where it was dried out and later sold for fertiliser, to the benefit of the Weyr.

‘At least it’s not summer,’ S’brin said as they raked over the smelly pile. ‘So what did N’teren say to you?’

‘That because I’m a brown rider, I should be more responsible.’

‘So, burying him,’ he gestured toward T’mudra, ‘In the middle of this lot wouldn’t go down too well.’

‘Definitely not.’

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ T’mudra said, although he kept a wary distance.

‘He probably wouldn't,’ S’brin indicated D’gar. ‘But I’m just a crazy green rider, so who knows what I might do.’ He flicked a piece of dung off one of the tines on his rake. It just missed T’mudra’s head.

‘Hey! Watch it.’

‘Sorry,’ S’brin said, sounding very much as if he wasn’t. ‘Accident.’

T’mudra caught D’gar’s eye. ‘If you’re in charge, then tell him off.’

‘Why? I didn’t see what happened. And he said sorry.’

‘Give it up,’ S’brin said. ‘You can’t win.’

T’mudra muttered something but carried on raking. S’brin flashed D’gar a quick smile. It wasn’t so bad, he thought. They’d still look out for each other.


	2. Flamethrowers and Firestone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The young dragons continue to grow and S'brin leads a lesson in servicing flamethrowers.

‘So, now you’ve taken it apart and cleaned everything - plus checked for any corrosion - what do we do next?’ S’brin was evidently enjoying his stint as instructor during this practical session in flamethrower maintenance. He’d been taking them apart since he was around twelve Turns old, so he had been the obvious choice to lead the lesson. The Weyrlingmaster tried to give each of his charges a chance to shine and since S’brin hadn’t been in any trouble for a good sevenday, he’d decided that today was his turn.

None of the weyrlings offered an opinion, so D’gar eventually spoke up. ‘We put it back together again?’

S’brin seemed relieved. ‘Exactly. Now, gather round and watch carefully. These aren’t toys. If you make a mistake, someone could die.’

‘We aren’t going to be putting these together often, are we?’ J’rud sounded concerned.

N’teren spoke up. ’Not generally, no. That’s a maintenance job. But you never know when there might be a need to sort one out in an emergency. If you’re on ground crew duty, for example.’ He nodded to S’brin. ‘Carry on, lad, you’re doing a good job.’

S’brin looked pleased. He was more often told off than praised these days, D’gar knew all too well. It wasn’t entirely his fault. Sometimes he just brushed people up the wrong way. That was why he’d always enjoyed maintenance. ‘I’m fine with fixing things,’ he’d said, often enough. ‘It’s people who are difficult to deal with.’ Still, he’d had no more midden duty lately.

‘Right, so if you’ve all been paying attention, you’ll notice that I’ve laid out all the parts in a specific order on this bench. There’s a reason for that. Can anyone tell me?’

‘Er, to make sure you don’t lose any pieces,’ G’tash suggested.

‘That’s one. But there’s another, more important reason.’

D’gar knew. He’d seen S’brin service flamethrowers lots of times, but he didn’t want to seem like a know-it-all by answering all the questions so he kept his mouth shut and watched weyrwoman Valli limping down the steps from Kadoth’s weyr. Had she injured herself, he wondered? Although in her sixties, she was usually fairly sprightly.

‘Anyone?’ S’brin was saying. He glanced at D’gar, as if willing him to help out.

‘Er, so you put it all back together the same way?’ He tried to make it sound as if he wasn’t sure.

‘That’s right. It’s the same when you take anything apart. Make sure you lay the pieces down in the correct order and you’ll be less likely to make a mistake when you reassemble it or leave anything important out.’

Most of the audience nodded at that, seeing the sense.

S’brin was warming to his subject. ‘Now, a flamethrower’s not an overly complicated piece of kit and doesn’t have a lot of parts, but some other mechanisms are far more complex. That’s when it pays to be methodical.’

T’mudra sighed heavily. ‘We didn’t all take maintenance as our specialty,’ he said, looking bored.

He must be one of those who looked down their nose at practical skills, D’gar thought, although the same folk were always quick enough to call on maintenance when something didn’t work properly.

S’brin looked annoyed. ‘Yeah, well, some folk don’t have the brains for it.’

‘Brains?’ T’mudra smirked. ‘Doesn’t take much intelligence to put a few bits of metal together.’

‘Now then, lads, that’s enough.’ The Weyrlingmaster stepped in before it got out of hand. ‘Carry on, Sbrin.’

S’brin glared at T’mudra. D’gar hoped the interruption hadn’t put him off too much. He caught S’brin’s eye and gave him an encouraging smile. i”m interested, he thought hard, as if he was talking to Herebeth. I’m listening.

‘So, reassembly.’ He picked up where he’d left off. ‘Let’s start with the wand. Not too many pieces in that.’ He picked up the two main components, then gave D’gar a cheeky grin. ‘Important point here. Whenever you’re fitting parts together, the first thing you need to make sure is that they’re well lubricated.’ He smoothed some oil onto one part with a suggestive motion, being sure to look straight at D’gar while he was doing it.

D’gar felt his face start to flush. Trust S’brin. The Weyrlingmaster sighed as one or two others in the class caught the drift and started to snigger.

‘Then you need to fit them together. If you’ve got it lined up just right it should slide straight in.’

There were more sniggers. D’gar noticed that T’mudra looked disgusted. Snotty so-and-so.

S’brin breezed on regardless. ‘Main thing is to be gentle. It’s never a good idea to force it.’

D’gar daren’t look at him anymore. To distract himself, he focussed on Valli, who was making her way towards their group. Her limp was slightly less pronounced now that she’d walked a little way. Maybe it was just a touch of the joint ache many of the older weyrfolk suffered from in the damp weather? Spring was on the way and when the sun shone it felt pleasantly warm, but the nights were still chilly.

Meanwhile, S’brin continued with his demonstration and the innuendo. Valli joined them at some point and her snorts of laughter were louder than the weyrlings’. When he’d finally finished and had a fully reassembled flamethrower, she applauded. ‘Bravo. Excellent performance, young man. Maybe you could service mine someday. Flamethrower, that is.’

It was S’brin’s turn to look embarrassed as Valli turned to the Weyrlingmaster. ‘Could I borrow a couple of your lads to help me with Kadoth? She fancies a good scrubbing and oiling but I’m afraid I’m not up to the task on my own these days.’

‘Of course, weyrwoman.’ He scanned the class briefly before making his decision. ‘As S’brin has proved so entertaining, I’m sure you’d appreciate his company for a while longer. And you can take D’gar as well. Those two are inseparable.’

The other weyrlings looked somewhat relieved. Although the weather was beginning to warm up, the lake was still cold enough that bathing dragons wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience.

‘Tough on you,’ T’mudra muttered to D’gar. ‘But if you keep hanging around with him, what do you expect.’

D’gar ignored him and went to stand next to Valli. After S’brin had put his tools back in his bag, he joined them.

‘We might as well do this the easy way and save my old legs.’ Valli’s eyes unfocussed as she spoke to Kadoth. In a few moments, the gold dragon launched herself from the ledge, coming to rest close by. ‘Kadoth doesn’t mind giving you a lift to the lake as well, if you like.’

D’gar glanced at S’brin. It was almost worthwhile getting wet and cold to ride a gold dragon. It would make the other weyrlings really envious.

‘If that’s all right,’ D’gar said, cautiously.

‘If it wasn’t, I’d not have said. Anyway, I have an ulterior motive. You boys can help me get on board.’

Kadoth lowered herself to the ground as far as she could, enabling S’brin to mount up. He took Valli’s hand while D’gar gave her a leg up, then scrambled up himself. It felt as if they were a very long way off the ground.

‘Hang on,’ Valli said. ‘We’re about to take off.’

Even at her age, Kadoth was still a powerful dragon. She sprang into the air and beat her huge wings a few times. In moments, the ground receded. D’gar looked down to see the small group of weyrlings regarding them with awe and open mouths. He waved. S’brin made a rude sign.Valli cuffed him gently. ‘None of that while you’re on my dragon, lad.’

They reached the lake in no time at all. Kadoth set down gently on the level ground, next to the sandy beach leading into the water.

‘You get down first,’ Valli told S’brin. ‘Then you can catch me. My knee’s really playing up today.’

‘What did you do?’ D’gar asked.

‘Got old,’ she replied. ‘I woke up this morning and it hurt really badly. No reason. You wait, one day you’ll find out for yourself what it’s like.’

Once they were all off, Valli removed the simple neck strap and Kadoth proceeded to wade out until the water was deep enough for her to immerse her entire body. She swam a little way before surfacing, scattering water droplets that reflected both the sunlight and her own golden hide. ‘There’s my beauty,’ Valli said happily as she rummaged in her bag for a couple of brushes. ‘Here you go. She says her neck ridges are particularly itchy and her left shoulder as well, just in front of the wing joint.’

S’brin, never one to be shy, started stripping off. D’gar was slightly more reluctant, not because of S’brin, who had, after all, seen him naked many a time, but because Valli had settled herself down on a rock and was also watching. ‘Don’t mind me,’ she said. ‘You get to my age and there isn’t much I’ve not seen before. Think yourself lucky to have youth on your side. I’m at the time of life when I look better with all my clothes on.’

S’brin ran out into the water. D’gar had long since discovered he didn’t seem to feel the cold. He followed, slightly more cautiously and by the time they’d scrubbed Kadoth to her satisfaction and Valli’s instructions he’d warmed up considerably.

Evidently the Weyrlingmaster had decided it would be a good idea for all the youngsters to have a bath today, for just as they finished D’gar noticed the hatchlings making their way over, stumbling, hopping and flapping wings. Herebeth and Zemianth chirped happily to see their riders and very soon the placid waters were being churned up by twelve small dragons. Kadoth raised her own massive wings above the water as they circled around her, showering them all. Valli beamed in delight to watch their antics.

‘Is that pale green beauty yours?’ she asked S’brin.

‘That’s right. My Zemianth.’

‘Just look at her and Kadoth together. She’s like a miniature of her mother.’

D’gar thought she was just being kind. He couldn’t really spot any resemblance between the lithe golden dragon and the gawky little green, but then he could never see it when people held up babies and said things like, ‘She’s got her mother’s nose.’

S’brin lapped up the praise and started telling Valli all the clever things Zemianth had done so far in her short life.

_I could do with some scrubbing as well,_ Herebeth reminded him. _I have an itchy patch at the base of my tail I can’t reach._

_All right then._ He splashed out into the deeper water to begin the process all over again. At least there wasn’t so much of Herebeth to scrub.

As the spring wore on, the young dragons continued to grow. They were now able to chew much larger pieces of meat. Herebeth enjoyed crunching bones, while Zemianth favoured slurping the entrails of a slaughtered beast. The better weather meant the classes were often held outside and while the riders were being grilled on various subjects, their dragons enjoyed sunning themselves or flapping their wings to strengthen the muscles. Soon they began to take short flights on their own. They were often watched by mature dragons, who seemed to find the younger ones fascinating. Kadoth in particular liked to rest on the landing field to let the hatchlings climb all over her and sometimes use her back as a launch pad.

D’gar noticed that Valli’s limp was even more pronounced. Whatever the problem was, it hadn’t improved with the warmer weather. It didn’t stop her joining the Queens’ Wing for each Threadfall, though.

‘I’ve only ever missed Fall when Kadoth’s guarding her clutch or when we’ve been scored, so I don’t intend to miss one now,’ she said firmly. ‘And my knee only hurts when I walk. Doesn’t stop me riding.’ There was no upper age limit for riding Fall; a rider or dragon would only be forced to retire from the Wings if their Wingleader thought they were a danger to themselves or others. In Valli’s case, no one but the Weyrwoman or Weyrleader could order her to stop.

Fighting Thread was still a long way off for Kadoth’s clutch. The weyrlings spent each Fall in the firestone dump, handing out the graded sacks to riders from Suderoth’s clutch, who had now mastered flying between and had therefore progressed to delivering supplies to the airborne Wings.

The first hour or so of any Fall wasn’t too busy; dragons chewed sufficient firestone before leaving the Weyr and carried a couple of spare sacks with them to maintain their flame while in the air. Depending on the conditions and the quantity of Thread that fell, at some point they would begin calling for replacement sacks.

A dragon would land and the rider shout out his request. ‘Two bronze, two brown and a blue.’ Sacks were passed along a chain to the dragon and secured to the fighting straps then empties thrown down before the pair took off again, blinking between once they’d reached a safe height.

D’gar’s usual job was to check the empty sacks for damage and pass them along for re-filling. Sometimes bits of frozen Thread would slide off a bag, having eaten a hole before it died in the cold of between. It smelled foul, like something metallic mixed with rotting vegetables. He had to wear gloves, just in case of any live Thread getting through and they soon stank as well.

By the end of Fall, everyone would be filthy with firestone dust and char, glad to get into the communal baths to soak tired muscles. They’d watch the Wings coming back, noting the gaps in formation where injured men or dragons had returned to the Weyr early. In some cases, they didn’t return at all.

Early in the summer, there was a Fall over the southern part of Fort Hold. The weyrlings were on their way towards the baths when the Queens’ Wing came in to land. Much as they were used to Wings taking off and landing, the sight of the massive golden dragons, flanked by several other colours who were not yet fit enough to return to their normal fighting Wings, was always impressive. Suderoth was the largest of them all; an orange-gold colour, like the sun when it was slipping down the western sky towards the horizon. Loranth was a lighter, more yellow-gold, with a slightly shorter wingspan and wider body. Kadoth was the palest gold of all, with glints of silver in her hide, like bright winter sunshine peeking through cloud cover. Her joints showed the slightly greenish tinge of old age, but she was still a fine-looking dragon. The quickest in the air, too, from what D’gar had heard.

As they watched, Valli beckoned them over. ‘You couldn’t give me a hand down, lads?’

D’gar took her flamethrower while S’brin helped her to dismount, setting her down carefully and supporting her when the bad knee almost gave way.

‘Kadoth says if you could get her straps off, she’d like to swim.’

‘Sure.’ D’gar climbed up and set to work, while S’brin helped her to limp into her weyr. It would probably have been easier to carry her, but he guessed she wasn’t willing to give in to that indignity. He followed them up, bringing her fighting straps, while Kadoth set off towards the lake.

Valli almost fell into her armchair, shutting her eyes. Her face looked thin and drawn.

‘Could you fetch me some wine, please. And put a drop of fellis in it. It’s in that green bottle on the desk.’

D’gar complied, being very careful with the dose of fellis. It was strong stuff. He’d only ever been given it once, when he broke his arm as a child. He hadn’t liked the way it made his head feel, as if he’d been spinning round until he was dizzy, although the relief from pain had been welcome. ‘There you go.’

She drank it down all in one and made a face. ‘So bitter, that stuff. Still, it does the job. I’ll just sit here for a while, I think.’

‘Does Kadoth need anything else?’ S’brin asked.

Valli’s eyes went unfocused for a moment as she talked to Kadoth. ‘She’s fine, she says. Thanks, lads. I’ll be all right now.’

They left the weyr to join the others. ‘She’s lost weight,’ S’brin said. ‘Not that she weighed much to start with. But she’s definitely lighter than when I helped her up on Kadoth before and that was only a couple of sevendays ago.’

‘It’s probably old age.’

‘Maybe. Just think, we’ll be like that one day; having to get the weyrlings to help us off our dragons and moaning about all of our aches and pains.’ The retired riders usually sat around one of the inner hearths in comfortable chairs, telling stories to the weyrbrats, minding young children and helping out with light tasks. The oldest of them was ninety-two. He’d ridden Fall until he was past seventy and told some gruesome tales.

D’gar couldn’t conceive of being so old. Even Valli, at sixty, seemed ancient. She’d have been born before the Pass began, he realised, trying to work out if she could have ridden in the first Fall. Probably not. Weyrwomen tended to Impress at a slightly later age. She’d have most likely been somewhere between eighteen and twenty-five when Kadoth hatched. He made a mental note to ask her. ‘I wonder if she’s seen the healers about that knee?’ he mused.

‘Must have done. They’d have given her the fellis. Come to think of it, that’ll be why she’s lighter. If you take that stuff regularly you lose your appetite. Same thing happened to my gran.’

The baths were crowded. Weyrlings were always the last to get in. While waiting, D’gar and S’brin amused themselves by eyeing up the wingriders and giving them points for attractiveness. A lot of flirting went on in the baths and changing areas, particularly after Threadfall, when everyone was in high spirits at having survived another one.

‘Look at V’chal,’ S’brin nudged D’gar. ‘He’s definitely making a move on B’naj.’

‘Lilith's close to rising, isn’t she?’ A female dragon’s emotional state often affected her rider, too, although V’chal was one of those who didn’t really need the extra encouragement.

‘In the next sevenday or so. He’s probably hoping Seventh will catch Lilith.’

‘Does that really work?’ While it was ultimately up to the dragons to decide the outcome of a mating flight, a green might favour a particular male and if the riders liked each other as well, it was sometimes enough to influence the result.

‘Often enough. Look at K’san and Gr’thol. They’ve been weyrmates for Turns and Norarth nearly always catches Famenth.’

‘Do you think it’ll work for us?’

‘I’m sure. Herebeth and Zemianth already like each other. And we definitely do.’

If only it was that simple. Before they’d Impressed it had been easy enough to believe it might all work out, but there was so much he just hadn’t realised back then. Green dragons tended to mature earlier than the males of the same clutch. They’d rise for the first time at anywhere between ten and eighteen months old. He knew now that it was unlikely Herebeth would show any interest in chasing greens before he was around two Turns old. Zemianth might have risen two or three times by then. Might decide she liked a particular dragon and wanted him to mate with her every time. And even though it was ‘only a mating flight’, what if S’brin found he liked that dragon’s rider better than D’gar?


	3. Summer Flights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragons rise to mate and D'gar finds out some devastating news.

Summer afternoon heat made the Weyr Bowl shimmer. Suderoth shone bright as the sun as she blooded her kill on the feeding grounds. Bronzes perched on weyr ledges and on the rim, waiting for the chase to begin.

Even the young dragons of Kadoth’s clutch looked interested and gathered in a huddle to watch the spectacle. Kadoth herself, along with Loranth had left the Weyr earlier, Valli struggling to reach her usual spot between the neck ridges, despite T’ron, the Weyrleader, giving her a boost up.

Unlike greens, who seldom minded rising together, gold dragons were fiercely jealous. If the older queens were still in the vicinity when Suderoth rose, they might fight her for possession of the bronzes. Nothing like that had happened in living memory, but as it was stated repeatedly in the records and Teaching Ballads, no-one dared risk the consequences.

‘Valli and Mardra are off to the beach,’ S’brin said. ‘She was looking forward to a swim. Said it might help with her aches and pains.’

‘Let’s hope something does.’ They’d both grown fond of the old weyrwoman and had become her preferred choice to help bathe and oil Kadoth.

A ripple of dragonlust surged through the Weyr as Suderoth bugled a challenge to her suitors. ‘Remember the last gold flight?’ S’brin’s expression left D’gar in no doubt he wanted to repeat the experience.

‘We mustn’t. Think of Herebeth and Zemianth.’

‘I thought you didn’t believe those Teaching Ballads.’

‘They might exaggerate, but I don’t want to take the chance. Do you?’

‘Is that just you trying to act responsible?’ S’brin reached out to touch his face.

D’gar wanted so much to lean into it, to lean forward and kiss S’brin. He stifled the urge. ’Someone has to.’ He watched as Suderoth brought down a second herdbeast. ‘I’d best go. I promised mum I’d help out in the kitchens. Otherwise there’ll be no dinner for anyone.’

‘Right. Can’t convince you otherwise?’ S’brin gave him that look he always found impossible to resist.

‘Sorry.’

‘Well, maybe I’ll find someone who isn’t so proper.’

’S’brin. Don’t.’ But he was already walking away. D’gar knew that if he followed he’d end up doing something he regretted. He looked down at the dusty ground until Suderoth had finished draining the blood from her second beast and finally took to the air.

If anything, the kitchens were even hotter than the Bowl. Many of the staff had used the mating flight as a good excuse to get out of the place, whether they had a partner or not. Agarra wiped her brow with a rag before taking another tray of meat rolls out of the oven. ‘Glad you’re here,’ she said. ‘There’ll be a lot of hungry folk come dinner time. Can you start on those tubers?’

‘Sure.’ He’d helped out in the kitchens often enough when he was a weyrbrat and knew where everything was kept. Peeling tubers occupied his hands, but it didn’t stop him wondering where S’brin had got to.

As if she’d read his mind, Agarra came over. ’S’brin didn’t want to help, then?’

‘I don’t know where he is.’ Or who he’s with, he added silently.

‘Ah. You had a falling out, then?’

He shrugged. ‘Kind of.’

‘Been a few Turns since the last time, hasn’t it? You’re not doing so badly, especially at your age. I could never stick with anyone for that long.’

She had a point, he supposed.

‘Gold flights make everyone edgy.’

‘Especially when you can’t do anything about it,’ he replied, bitterly. ‘Now we’ve got young dragons.’

‘Well, that won’t last forever, will it? There’ve been a few mating fights when I’ve had to bite my lip and get on with other things. Like today, for example. Someone has to take a turn in the kitchens or none of the Weyr would get fed.’

‘I suppose so.’ Having a dragon was wonderful and yet it seemed that as their dragons grew, S’brin and he drifted apart in subtle ways. Maybe if they had both Impressed the same colour it would have been better. All the greens seemed to have a particular bond which wasn’t the case with the other colours.

‘Don’t worry about it. Trouble with you is you think too much. Find problems where there aren’t any.’

Agarra’s disposition was more like S’brin’s. She dived headlong into things without taking too much time to worry about the ‘maybes’ and ‘what ifs’. But that was how they were and he was how he was and neither of them could help it.

‘Have you done those tubers yet?’

‘Almost. Just a few left.’ He watched his mother as she removed a small dish from the oven and tested it. ‘What’s that?’

‘Special treat for weyrwoman Valli. I’m trying to get her to eat more. She loves these little pies.’

‘She’s getting thinner, isn’t she? S’brin said it’s because of all the fellis she’s taking.’

Agarra gave him an odd look. ‘You know why she’s taking fellis?’

‘For her knee, isn’t it?’

‘That’s a part of it. A symptom. You must have noticed it’s not getting any better.’

‘Is it joint ache, then?’ Poor Valli. He’d seen how some of the weyrfolk were crippled with that; their hands like gnarled roots.

‘Worse. She’s got a wasting disease, so the healers say. In a few more sevendays, depending how fast it progresses, she’ll not be able to walk any more. Eventually, it’ll kill her.’

D’gar was horrified. It was one thing to die in Threadfall, but at least that was fairly quick. And although every dragonrider knew it was a possibility during each Fall they fought, no-one really believed it would happen to them. But to be told you had something wrong that would gradually incapacitate you and finally kill you, was truly awful. ‘She knows about it?’

‘Of course. She won’t give in to it; that’s how she is. She’ll keep pushing herself until she just can’t any more. So, I’ll keep on making her little treats. I know you and S’brin help her out with Kadoth. That’s all any of us can do; try to make her remaining time as good as it can be.’

D’gar hadn’t thought this afternoon could get any worse, but it just had. The knowledge that Valli was dying slowly drove all of the niggling dragonlust from his mind. Now that he knew, how would he be able to look her in the face without it showing? She must get that from everyone, he realised; a sort of pitying glance mingled with relief that it wasn’t them. Maybe that’s why she’d picked out him and S’brin to help her; not just because their dragons were from Kadoth’s clutch - her last clutch in all probability - but because, as weyrlings, they were less likely to find out what really ailed her. Except, now he had.

‘Best get on with those vegetables,’ Agarra said, brusquely.

Her attempt to distract him, he knew. He started picking off leaves and trimming them, hoping as he did so that Valli was having a wonderful time by the sea and that she might be able to forget, for a while at least, that she was dying. He’d a fair sized pile of them by the time the wash of release told them both that Suderoth had been caught.

‘Long flight,’ his mother commented. ‘She’ll lay well from that. Maybe even a gold egg, this time.’

She left unspoken the fact that they’d soon be a queen dragon short; that there’d need to be another to replace Valli and Kadoth, whether she was bred at Fort, or transferred from another Weyr.

He didn’t see S’brin again until dinner was served. As Agarra had predicted, everyone in the Weyr had worked up a healthy appetite. Tirelle didn’t appear in the dining hall; doubtless she and V’dul were still recovering in her weyr. Suderoth and Sarneth had returned and were curled happily together on the ledge, their hides reflecting the evening sunlight like burnished metal.

D’gar didn’t know what to say to S’brin and would probably have stayed miserably alone if S’brin hadn’t got his food and plonked himself down on the bench next to him.

‘You all right?’ he asked.

‘I’ve been better.’

S’brin put an arm around him and hugged him so hard he nearly choked on his mouthful of food. ‘Sorry about earlier. it was the flight getting to me.’

‘Did you have a good time?’ He tried to make his voice sound cold. Difficult, when what he mostly felt was relief.

‘Not really. I just went back to the barracks and…’ he made a gesture indicating what he’d done. ‘You?’

‘I peeled a lot of vegetables.’

‘You didn’t really think I’d go off with someone else, did you?’

He shrugged. ‘I probably wasn’t thinking straight with all the dragonlust, but yes, I did wonder.’

‘Don’t be daft. I wouldn’t do that to you.’ He sighed. ‘How much longer do you think we’ll have to wait, before we can do it with each other again?’

‘Not before the dragons are at least ten months, they reckon.’

‘Shit! Zemianth might rise before then.’

‘Surely you’d know. If she was going to?’

‘It’s not easy to predict, the first couple of times. That’s what the other greens say, anyway. Once she’s established a cycle, it’s fairly regular. Only thing that might upset it is if she gets injured.’

‘Or if you do, surely?’

‘Don’t know about that. They didn’t say. But I don’t think it would. I heard about a gold who rose while her rider was unconscious from a head injury.’

That brought all kinds of unpleasant images to D’gar’s mind. S’brin, badly Threadscored and unable to defend himself. Valli, dosed up on fellis, with bronze riders pawing all over her. ‘I found out something about Valli,’ he said, quietly, although probably half the Weyr knew if the Lower Caverns workers did. ‘She’s… she’s dying.’

‘What? Are you sure?’

He nodded. ‘Mum told me.’

S’brin fell silent for a while. ‘It explains a lot. Some of the things she’s said. The fellis. She’s getting worse, too.’

‘Apparently she won’t be able to walk, soon.’ Which meant, presumably, she’d not be able to ride Kadoth either. Sure, some of the retired riders couldn’t get on their dragons any more, but as the dragons themselves wouldn’t find flying easy, it didn’t really matter. They’d had their fill of an exciting life; they’d survived countless Falls and were content to spend their remaining Turns sitting around the fire telling stories. Valli should have another twenty or thirty Turns. She should see the end of the Pass.

‘That’s awful.’ It was obviously as much of a shock to S’brin as it had been to him when he was first told. ‘So the healers can’t do anything?’

‘Apparently not. Only give her fellis for the pain.’

‘Even that’s not helping much. She was swearing yesterday when I helped her into her weyr. She said it felt like someone was squeezing her knee in a vice and sticking pins all down her leg.’

‘We’d better not let on that we know?’

‘Why?’

‘It might make her feel awkward. Make her think we’re only helping her out of pity. If she wants us to know, she’ll tell us herself.’ Probably, he thought, at a time when she can’t hide it any more.

The prospect of a new batch of weyrlings once Suderoth's eggs had hatched meant that the best of the dragons and riders from her previous clutch started to graduate into the Wings, still leaving enough to continue with the vital firestone replacement duty until the youngsters from Loranth’s clutch became ready to assume it. It was a never ending cycle, D’gar thought. Like seedlings sprouting from the bare earth in spring, growing tall, ripening and then being harvested. In some cases it was a deadly harvest. Although the Weyrlingmaster and then the Wingleaders tried to make sure the new pairs were well drilled, the only real way to learn how to fight Thread was to do it. Not every pair survived long enough to gain the experience they needed. Mistakes could be - and often were - fatal.

It was a sultry evening, heat radiating from the Bowl’s stone walls, when ten of the riders were invited by the respective Wingleaders to join their Wings. D’gar and S’brin watched as they left the weyrling tables forever, to a noisy accompaniment of claps and cheers. They’d be moving out of the barracks to their own weyrs now, as well.

‘Which Wing do you think we’ll end up in?’ D’gar hoped they would be in the same one, although there was no guarantee of that. It depended on the spaces available.

‘“F” or “C” Wing are good ones. R’feem’s a decent Wingleader and so is Z’los.’

‘What about “A” Wing?’

He made a face. ‘Think the pair of us will get in the Weyrleader’s Wing? I doubt that.’

’T’ron knows we help Valli. It might count for something.’

‘Yeah, except N’teren’s going to tell the Wingleaders everything about us before they make their decision. Anyway, it’s all academic right now. We haven’t even flown on our dragons yet. We might be rubbish.’

‘I can’t wait to fly on Herebeth.’ D’gar’s dragon, like the rest of the clutch, was already gliding off ledges and except for one spectacular crash landing into the lake, seemed to be mastering the skill well. Zemianth looked far more graceful in the air and now that she was getting sleeker and larger, you could definitely tell she was Kadoth’s daughter.

‘Me too. Once Zemianth can take my weight.’

Some of the comments made by their clutchmates had hit home. ‘Dragons are stronger than they look. Most of the greens can carry two or three people, if they need to. You definitely aren’t as heavy as that.’ S’brin didn’t seem convinced, so D’gar changed the subject. ‘I reckon she’s going to be really fast. No-one’s going to outfly her unless she wants them to.’

‘Talking of which, bets are on as to which of Loranth’s clutch will be the first to rise. I reckon Minth.’

‘Why?’

‘She’s started changing colour. And E’sen’s been in a bad mood the last few days.’

‘Could be anything. Anyway, I thought you didn’t like stereotypes. Not all green riders get proddy when their dragons are close to rising.’

‘No, but some do. Hey, do you think T’mudra’s going to be even more uptight when Jassainth starts feeling randy?’

‘Who knows.’ T’mudra generally kept out of their way these days, as far as that was possible with such a small clutch. ‘Maybe it’ll have the opposite effect.’

‘Yeah. Maybe he’ll try to chat you up.’

D’gar made a face. ‘I don’t fancy him in the slightest.’

‘No, but if Herebeth takes a shine to Jassainth you aren’t going to have any choice about it.’

All of the greens in Suderoth’s clutch had risen once or twice by now. Even the blues and browns were mature enough to start being interested in chasing females. Generally, the first mating flight of any green dragon was overseen by N’teren, more to ensure the rider got through it smoothly than through any concern for the dragon. Everyone knew that mating flights - for the human participants - could be difficult. Until they rose for the first time, you had no way of knowing whether you’d be one of those who were so enmeshed with your dragon that you didn’t have a clue what was happening to your own body. ‘It’s that whole losing your mind thing that worries me. What if I hurt someone because I don’t know what I’m doing?’

‘You won’t. It’s not in your nature. As far as I can tell, dragonlust’s a bit like getting drunk. Some folk get silly, some want to fight. We’ve both been fine with gold flights haven’t we?’

‘True. But everyone says it’s different when it’s your own dragon. More intense.’

‘Anyone tries anything I don’t like, I’ll clobber them. You don’t get into trouble for hitting someone during a mating flight.’

D’gar didn’t think S’brin was thinking it through sufficiently. Green riders were more usually the ones who lost conscious control over themselves. S’brin mightn’t even be aware enough to be able to fend off anyone. That worried him.

As it happened, S’brin won his bet. Minth rose a couple of hours before Berith, another green from Loranth’s clutch, on a blazingly bright, hot afternoon. It wasn’t anywhere near as long as a gold flight and Minth didn’t even bother to blood her kill beforehand, just launched herself with a piercing shriek, closely followed by a cluster of blues and browns from Suderoth’s clutch. N’teren had made sure there weren’t too many of them and they were all young beasts, so that there wouldn’t be too much of an age difference between the riders.

Berith went just before dinner, having been lying in the sun all afternoon until she glowed. She killed a wherry and an ovine, drained the blood from their necks, then left the bodies heaped on the feeding ground as she took off. Sh’bul, who was nearly nineteen, having Impressed on his fifth try, had decided that Berith’s first flight should be open to all.

‘Think he felt pressured into that?’ D’gar asked. Although in theory, anyone could specify a restricted flight for their first time, older riders - or those who were known to be sexually experienced - generally didn’t, for fear of seeming immature.

‘Maybe. But Sh’bul can take care of himself. He’ll be fine.’

D’gar wasn’t so sure. Sh’bul looked like he was sleepwalking into the flight cave and had to be guided by some of the other riders. Berith’s flight had attracted some of the sort who always went for the younger ones; F’nerl and H’sal, both of whom were in their late forties. Despite having been told time and time again that ‘the dragon decides’, it really did seem that some dragons chased greens far more frequently than others and those who did were usually the ones with lecherous riders. Maybe it was just another example of how well matched in temperament the pairs were, but D’gar had a cynical idea that even if a dragon wasn’t particularly bothered whether he caught a mate or not, maybe the rider had some influence.

H’sal’s Nalth flew Berith. Although he was an older dragon, he had the experience of many a mating flight, even if the younger ones were faster. He’d also been fighting Thread for over twenty Turns, so he’d built up plenty of muscle and stamina. And while the pair of dragons seemed happy afterwards when they returned to the Weyr, poor Sh’bul ended up in the infirmary having dislocated his shoulder at some point during the flight.

‘That H’sal ought to be ashamed of himself. There’s no call for treating anyone so badly,’ Agarra said, when D’gar pushed her to find out if she knew what had happened. ‘I heard say that wasn’t all the injuries he had, either.’

‘Oh. What else then?’

‘Bruises. Bite marks. You should ask him yourself if you want to know any more. Not for me to say.’

But when Sh’bul got out of the infirmary, he wasn’t talking much to anyone. Before the flight, he’d been quite a relaxed, cheerful sort. Now he was nervous and jumpy, picking at his food when they ate together in the dining hall and not looking up from the table. It made D’gar even more worried about what might happen when Zemianth rose for the first time. He couldn’t talk about it with S’brin, of course. He’d laugh it off, as usual. And Agarra just wouldn’t get the nuances, not having a dragon herself. So he ended up talking to the only other older person he felt would understand; Valli.

‘I’ve had a few rough flights over the Turns,’ she said. ‘That’s how it goes for those of us who ride gold or green.’

‘It’s not right, though.’

‘Maybe not, but there’s not much you - or I - can do about it. Dragons need to mate. We just have to go along with it.’ She must have noticed his expression. ‘Cheer up, lad. It’s not always like that. I’ve had more good ones than bad ones. Not that I always remember much about it afterwards. Let you in on a secret though. The best part is after the dragons have finished. You’ve still got a head full of dragonlust, but you know what you’re about. Oh yes, that’s the best sex I’ve ever had.’ She smiled as she said it, then her face fell. ‘Not that I’ll be doing that any more.’

‘Kadoth might rise again.’ He knew she wouldn’t but he had to say something.

‘Think you and I both know that’s not going to happen. Even if she wasn’t past it, then I am.’ She rubbed her left leg. ‘Look. My foot doesn’t even work properly any more.’ She demonstrated, first flexing her right foot, then attempting the same movement with the left. It barely came off the ground.

‘You’ve maybe been overdoing things…’ he trailed off, miserably.

‘You’re a bright lad. You must know by now. Weyr gossip and all that.’

He nodded. ‘I didn’t want to say anything. You probably don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Not about that, no. I don’t mind talking about anything else though.’

‘Well, is there anything I can do to help S’brin?’

‘Make sure he asks for a restricted flight. That’ll keep the nasty ones away. Then by the time Zemianth rises second or third time, your Herebeth will be old enough. The way you two are with each other, he’s bound to catch her, most times. When Os’erl was here, his Firorth flew Kadoth more often than not.’

D’gar didn’t recognise the name. ‘Where is he now?’ Maybe he’d been transferred to another Weyr.

‘Thread got him.’ She sighed. ‘He was only forty-two when he died. I was two Turns younger. Missed him ever since.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No need. We lived to the full, while we had the chance. Odds were, one of us wouldn’t make it and it was more likely to be him. Perhaps it was a good thing. At least he didn’t end up like me.’

D’gar wondered if that was why she still pushed herself to ride Fall, despite the pain. Maybe she hoped Thread would take her before the disease ran its course.

‘Now I’m being gloomy again. Get us some more of that wine. I like a good Benden white.’

Life at the Weyr continued. The growing dragons of Kadoth’s clutch learned to catch their own food, relieving their riders of that responsibility at least. But they still needed bathing and oiling and there was more hide to tend with each passing sevenday.

On the third Fall after they’d joined the Wings, K’llesh and blue Jirianth didn’t return. In the dining hall that night, T’ron raised his cup in a toast to the pair.

‘He was only just eighteen,’ D’gar hissed to S’brin. Barely a Turn older than they both were.

‘How it goes,’ S’brin said. ‘Not everyone makes it.’

‘What if one of us doesn’t?’

‘Don’t be daft. Of course we will. We’re better than them.’

D’gar hoped he was right, even though, deep down he knew K’llesh had probably believed he was invincible too.


	4. Decline and Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The young dragons fly with their riders for the first time. Valli asks for help.

The shadows were lengthening now; the sun slipping out of sight beyond the rim of the Bowl a little earlier each day. It was still warm, though. Summer was clinging on this Turn.

All twelve of the weyrling pairs had taken their places around half way up the ancient rock fall at the far end of the Bowl. Today was the first time they’d fly on board their own dragons. Herebeth was as excited as D’gar. He’d watched his dragon perfect his flying skills alone, practising circuits and turns, take offs and landings. Now, at last, they would fly together.

Some of the older dragons lined the rim, or perched on ledges to watch. Valli herself had joined them, Kadoth gleaming. She sat proud and straight on her dragon’s neck, even though D’gar knew how much effort it took for her to do that now. She was having to take more fellis just to be able to do the little things everyone took for granted but her public face never slipped.

D’gar checked his riding straps were properly secured. It would be very embarrassing to fall off in front of all these spectators. _Sure I’m not too heavy for you?_ he asked for the umpteenth time.

_I can barely feel your weight,_ Herebeth assured him. _I am a strong dragon. Whether I have you on my neck or not makes no difference._

D’gar glanced over to where S’brin sat on Zemianth. She was still slightly smaller than the rest of the greens from Kadoth’s clutch, but she had fine lines. Like the difference between a runner bred for racing and one more suited to pull a carriage, he thought, although S’brin probably wouldn’t appreciate the comparison.

N’teren was mounted on his own dragon. This was a proud moment for him, as well. ‘Now, we’ll have the two browns go first. Herebeth and Kailarth.’ It was traditional to fly in colour order. If there had been any bronzes in the clutch, they’d have had the honour of going first.

‘Once your dragon’s taken off, you’ll fly to the opposite end, turn to your left, nice and smooth, then fly back here and land on the flat area down below us. You’ll all have more than one go as long as your dragons are up to it. Last thing we want is to overstrain them. Right! Are you ready?’

D’gar gave the hand signal indicating he was and saw G’tash do the same.

_Time to fly, Herebeth._

‘Then go when you’re ready.’

There was a surge of power as Herebeth pushed off the slope with his hind legs, then began to beat his wings. The ground fell away and even though it was a still afternoon, the air whipped against D’gar’s face. He barely had time to enjoy the view before they reached the point at which they had to start to turn. He leaned with it, feeling the riding straps holding him tightly in position. The floor of the Bowl was at an odd angle now as Herebeth banked to complete his turn, then with a few more beats of his wings, gained height. Kailarth was alongside, at a dragonslength distance. G’tash had a broad smile on his face and D’gar knew he must look the same. This was amazing.

_We have to land on the flat. Can you manage that?_ He wondered if landing would be bumpy, but Herebeth set down as gently as if he’d been on his own.

_You see. That was easy._ D’gar felt incredibly happy and knew that part of it was Herebeth’s own feeling of joy at having successfully flown with his rider. But it had all been over so quickly!

_We will be able to go again,_ Herebeth said. _I shall fly higher next time._

They watched the blues take their turn, then finally, the green dragons lined up.

_Tell Zemianth good luck._ From the nod S’brin gave him just a few moments later he knew he’d got the message. Then, they too were airborne and heading off for the end of the Bowl. Watching them, D’gar could see quite clearly how much closer they were able to get to the rocky wall before turning. If he and Herebeth tried that, they’d not make it. But Herebeth, like all dragons, instinctively knew how much space he needed to turn safely.

Zemianth, he noted proudly, was the quickest of all of them. She landed neatly and precisely, folding her wings to her sides. S’brin was grinning wildly. Valli punched her fist in the air and Kadoth bugled to congratulate her sons and daughters on their achievement. Even N’teren had relaxed enough to crack a smile.

They had two more goes each, practising ascents and descents. On their third run, Herebeth flew high enough for D’gar to see over the edge of the rim; a spectacular glimpse of the mountains surrounding the Weyr and the valley that sloped down towards Fort Hold.

_I do not know why we must stop,_ Herebeth protested. _I am not at all tired. I like it when we fly together._

_We also have to do what we’re told. And we’ve been told to stop now. But I expect we’ll be doing a lot more flying practice from now on._

The barracks were emptier these days, since most of Suderoth’s clutch had moved out to their own weyrs. Loranth’s clutch, having mastered the skill of flying _between_ had now begun to take on the duty of supplying firestone to the fighting dragons during Fall.

‘Few more months and that’ll be us.’ D’gar paused for a break from passing filled bags up to the supply dragons. Although it wasn’t as tiring as flying Fall in a Wing, supply duties were almost as dangerous; they brought a rider and dragon pair into closer contact with Thread than they had ever been before and accidents sometimes happened.

A brown dragon landed, his rider throwing down a handful of empty sacks. ‘Four greens, two blues, two bronze,’ he called out. D’gar recognised M’rell and Toth.

‘Coming up,’ S’brin called, as D’gar threw him the first couple of green marked sacks. ‘How is it up there today?’

‘Thread’s falling erratically in this wind,’ M’rell answered. ‘They’re using more firestone than normal. Hope you’ll be able to keep up with demand.’

‘We always do.’ D’gar grabbed the blue coded sacks. ‘Bring us a couple more bronze over, G’tash.’

M’rell took care to fasten the sacks securely to the clips on his straps. ‘See you later, lads.’ Toth pushed off powerfully, the downdraught from his wings stirring the dust. He went _between_ at just a few dragon lengths height.

‘He’s cutting it a bit fine,’ G’tash said, but there was no time to reply as blue Mirlith landed and V’sil shouted out his order.

Firestone duty was always like that. Nothing much to do at all for the first hour or so, then a mad panic for the initial re-supply, when dragons were landing and taking off almost non-stop. After that, orders came in in dribs and drabs, giving a bit more time to re-fill the old bags and to re-organise the graded ones for easy access when another rush came in.

Mirlith flew slightly higher before disappearing, but not much. It was time and energy saving, D’gar knew. Of course, they’d been drilled on not going _between_ until you were at a safe height but there was often a divide between the proper way things should be done and the more pragmatic way they actually got done.

Another few dragons arrived in rapid succession, then there was a lull. D’gar took a drink of water, passing the flask across to S’brin. ‘Looks like it’s a difficult one today.’

‘They thought it might be, beforehand.’

It was fairly breezy here at the Weyr, but over the plains of Southern Boll, the wind must be far stronger. Thread would blow unpredictably sideways, rather than falling straight down. Fighting against the wind tired dragons more quickly.

Minth descended rapidly to the landing area. ‘Four bronze, two brown,’ E’sen shouted. He threw down some empty sacks. ‘Mind those. Some of ‘em are bloody.’

It was the red blood of a rider rather than the green ichor of a dragon. D’gar picked them up and took them over to the re-filling area. The blood was mostly dry, but he still didn’t like to think about the injuries that might have caused it. He grabbed two brown coded sacks and took them back, while G’tash and S’brin brought the bronze ones. ‘Here you go.’

‘Thanks.’ As E’sen was fastening them, Minth suddenly stretched her neck out and keened, her voice rapidly being joined by all the other dragons still left at the Weyr. Someone had died. D’gar wondered if it had been the rider whose blood now stained his gloves. It was over almost before it had begun. In the midst of Fall, there wasn’t time to mourn. Minth recovered her composure, gave a little shake of her head as if to say, ‘back to work’ and sprang into the air.

After they’d tidied up the firestone bunker, they made their way back. A few Wings had already returned. There were several scored dragons waiting for treatment beside the infirmary caves and healers together with their helpers were carrying injured men inside.

The Queens’ Wing had already landed and D’gar spotted Kadoth at the mouth of her weyr, still wearing fighting straps and with flamethrower mounted on her back. ‘Shall we go and see to Kadoth first?’ he suggested. No-one else seemed to be helping and Valli wasn’t around. She was probably exhausted, he realised, and must have gone straight inside her weyr to lie down.

‘Good idea.’ They climbed the steps - it was a good job Valli was entitled to a more-or-less ground level weyr - with D’gar in the lead. At the top, he heard raised voices and stopped so quickly S’brin almost ran into him.

‘Hey! Watch it.’

‘Shh.’ They both hung back, Kadoth peering at them quizzically.

‘I’m sorry, Valli, but this is it. No-one in this Weyr - least of all me - wants to see you and Kadoth hurt, or worse.’ D’gar had heard that voice often enough to know that it was the Weyrleader speaking.

‘I’m already hurt.’ Her voice cracked, as if she was in pain, or had been crying. ‘I’m dying, T’ron. I’d rather go fighting, up in the air. A good, clean death, on my dragon. You’d feel the same if it was you.’

‘I know, I know. I’m not saying you can’t still fly, while you’re able. But no more riding Fall. That’s my final word.’

D’gar heard his boots on the stone and shrank back against S’brin. If he knew they’d been eavesdropping, they’d be in trouble. But before he got any closer, Kadoth shifted slightly and extended a wing. D’gar caught her eye and pulled S’brin with him, under the shelter of its golden canopy. A few moments later, the Weyrleader strode past. Kadoth kept them there a while longer before finally lifting her wing.

‘You can take her stuff off, she says,’ Valli called. ‘Then come in here.’

S’brin looked at him. ‘We shouldn’t have been listening to that.’

‘We weren’t to know.’ D’gar unfastened the tank from Kadoth’s back and removed the pad that stopped it chafing her while S’brin took off the straps. Then they carried them through to the inner weyr.

Valli sat in her usual chair, her riding leathers still covered in char from Fall. Her short, grey hair was stuck to her scalp with sweat and her face was lined in pain.

‘Do you want some fellis?’ D’gar asked.

‘Please.’

‘I’m sorry you heard all that.’

‘We are too,’ S’brin offered. ‘We didn’t mean to snoop. We’d just come up to help with Kadoth.’

‘It’s all right. She told me. That was kind of you both.’

D’gar handed her the cup. She sniffed at the contents. ‘I hate tainting good Benden white with this foul stuff.’ She drank it quickly, then handed it back to him. ‘Give it a swill out, then put something decent in there.’

He busied himself. When he returned, S’brin was sitting beside the chair on a wooden stool.

D’gar handed her the cup. She took another drink. ‘Ah, that’s better. So, what do you think? Am I a disgrace to this Weyr?’

‘No!’ S’brin was the first to reply.

‘Of course not,’ D’gar said.

‘Well, our good Weyrleader thinks so. He doesn’t want my death on his hands, he said. Bad for morale, he said. He’d rather me die in here and Kadoth have to go off _between_ alone.’

‘Are you sure that’s what he meant? He said you could still fly.’

‘Ah, so you heard that part. And that I can’t ride Fall anymore.’

D’gar nodded. He could see T’ron’s point of view, but he sympathised equally as much with Valli.

She took another sip of the wine. ‘He’s right, to some extent. I’ll admit I’ve not been so… careful, recently. You lads don’t know what it’s like yet, but when you’re up there, in the thick of it, everyone knows one mistake can kill you. It makes you careful. And lately, I’ve not been taking heed of that. Oh, Kadoth won’t let me do anything downright dangerous, but I’ve not been so averse to taking risks. Why let someone else get Thread in the face when I might be able to reach it first?’

‘That’s very brave of you,’ S’brin said.

She shook her head. ‘Anything but. When there’s nothing to live for any more, a quick death doesn’t seem so bad.’

D’gar wondered how anyone could feel like that. Yes, Valli knew she was going to die, but while you were still alive and breathing how could you want to throw it away? And what about your dragon?

‘I’ve been like this before,’ she said. ‘When Os’erl died. Didn’t much care then, either. What’s the point in living when the one you love has gone into cold _between_?’ She drained the cup. ‘Refill, please.’

D’gar didn’t think she should be drinking so much. But who was he to deny her? If he was Valli’s age and facing certain death, then who’s to say he wouldn’t do the same? Only, in his case, S’brin would stop him. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it, if you had someone there with you, to hold your hand and remind you of the good times? Impulsively he said, ‘We’ll always be here for you.’ S’brin nodded agreement.

‘Thanks lads, I appreciate that. Now, you’d better get on before anyone wonders where you’ve got to. I’ll be fine.’

They left, reluctantly and joined the others in the baths.

‘Where did you two get to?’ J’rud called over, as they undressed.

‘Probably feeling each other up in some store cupboard,’ T’mudra said, getting a few laughs.

‘Why don’t you join us in there next time,’ S’brin snapped back. ‘You might learn something.’

‘We’ll all be learning it tomorrow.’ That was B’rol. ‘Well, all of us greens. N’teren’s giving the lecture on how to tell when your dragon’s going to rise and what to do when she does.’

There were several groans from the pool. ‘We’ve seen enough flights to know about all that, haven’t we?’ J’rud said. ‘Colour changes, moodiness, then bye bye to your mind for a couple of hours.’

‘And hello sore bum for a few days afterwards,’ G’tash added. ‘Really glad I didn’t Impress a green.’

’T’garrin’s already taking bets on which of our lot will be first to rise.’ R’chol splashed from the deeper end of the pool to grab a handful of sweetsand from the bowl on the side. ‘And whether it will happen before Turn’s End.’

‘I bet I know which one it’ll be.’ T’mudra looked pointedly at S’brin, who ignored him and jumped in at the deep end, making a large splash.

‘That’s rubbish.’ D’gar thought it was time he said something. ‘It’s down to the dragon, not the rider. Zemianth’s still one of the smallest, lightest greens in our clutch. If I was making a bet I’d put it on one of the sturdy ones who eats a lot. Like Jassainth.’ T’mudra’s dragon’s habit of gorging had given her a few digestive problems over the past couple of months.

‘Yeah. If she eats like that before she rises, she won’t last very long.’ S’brin had surfaced, next to T’mudra. ‘Maybe he won’t either.’ He made a rude gesture. That got some laughs as well.

D’gar got into the pool, ducking under to get his hair wet and rinse the firestone dust out of it. He remembered the last time S’brin and he had been in this particular pool; the day Kadoth rose, before they’d Impressed. Surely if the greens were getting close to the stage where they might be mature enough to rise, there wasn’t much point in their riders avoiding sexual contact any more? He made a mental note to ask N’teren about that even though he could already see the Weyrlingmaster’s pained expression at yet another question. Actually, he’d probably be as well to ask some of the riders from Loranth’s clutch as they’d already passed that stage. He was pretty sure that M’rell was involved with one of the young women who worked in the laundry and it was unlikely they just sat holding hands whenever they met.

Suddenly, someone pulled him under, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He didn’t struggle. He knew exactly who it was. They broke the surface together. D’gar shook the water off. ’What was all that about?’

‘You looked like you were thinking too much.’ S’brin was still very close to him. Close enough to kiss. For a few moments, D’gar thought it might happen. Then he realised everyone was watching and that T’mudra would probably tell the Weyrlingmaster. He broke eye contact, then dived under again, surfacing on the far side.

J’rud laughed. ’Think I’m going to take bets on how long it is before those two are doing each other again, never mind what the dragons think.’

While the greens were having their special lecture, the rest of the clutch worked at their usual task; breaking and bagging firestone. ‘I reckon we’ll be having our first firestone lesson soon,’ D’gar said. During his time in the archives, he’d learned that green dragons were capable of laying eggs too and it was only chewing firestone that prevented this happening. N’teren would want to make sure they’d had a sufficient quantity before anyone rose to mate.

‘Great,’ G’tash said. ‘I can’t wait to ride a flaming dragon.’ Flying had progressed from circuits of the bowl to longer trips out of the Weyr, learning how to keep formation and to communicate with each other via the dragons. They’d been practising that on the ground, too, but once in the air, it began to make more sense.

‘Flying, flaming. Next one after that is learning to go _between_.’ T’kes stopped shovelling. ‘Think we’ll be lucky like Loranth’s clutch?’

They’d not lost anyone. ‘Let’s hope so.’ D’gar’s nightmares still resurfaced sometimes. _Between_ wasn’t a place he liked to think about too much. Sometimes, he worried he’d not be able to keep a clear image in his head for the requisite eight seconds, due to the way his mind jumped around. Although if some of the riders in the Weyr, who were more stupid than a field full of ovines, could do it, then there was no reason he shouldn’t.

While they worked a green dragon rose, as if to underline the lesson their clutchmates were learning. It was one of the younger greens; V’chal’s Lilith. It wasn’t an uncommon sight; due to the numbers of green dragons at Fort Weyr, one or two rose most sevendays. Today, though, they all watched as several blues, browns and two bronzes went after her, until they were mere specks against the cloudless autumn sky. Meanwhile, the riders hurried into the flight cave.

‘That’ll be us this time next Turn,’ G’tash commented. ‘Some of the blues from Loranth’s clutch are already getting interested in chasing.’

‘Browns and bronzes always take longer to fully mature.’ K’dis often made comments like that. He seemed to think his blue Cegorth was far in advance of all the others in the clutch. He gave a sideways glance at D’gar. ‘Wonder who’ll get to fly Zemianth the first time?’

D’gar ignored him and carried on filling the bag. Although he kept telling himself it didn’t matter, he knew that really it did. It wasn't so much the thought of S’brin having sex with someone else, more that whoever it was might not be as considerate as they should. Sometimes mating flights got rough; sometimes people were hurt; all of that he’d known for Turns. Now that it might happen to S’brin, he felt very differently about it.

‘I bet there’ll be a few riders who’ll send their dragons up after her, just for a chance to get S’brin.’

‘Shut it, K’dis,’ G’tash said. ‘Or are you deliberately trying to rile D’gar?’

‘Me? No. Just making conversation.’ But he did shut up.

D’gar flashed a grateful smile to G’tash.

‘All he needs to do is ask for a restricted flight,’ G’tash said. ‘That’ll keep away any of the old lechers.’

‘Someone else said the same thing.’

‘Well then, he’ll be fine.’

It all sounded so simple. Mind you, so did chewing firestone and the first time the dragons did that, some of them bit their tongues by accident, while others ended up with rocks in the wrong stomach, making them vomit up piles of steaming grey gloop rather than producing flame.

Herebeth chewed thoughtfully. The noise was so loud that D’gar feared for his teeth.

_My teeth are strong and the stone is soft. It is very noisy, though._

_It must sound even louder inside your head than it does to my ears._

After a few minutes, he belched and a tiny trickle of flame emerged from his mouth. Herebeth looked slightly surprised. Then he tried again and a much larger flame emerged.

‘Remember to keep a good distance apart,’ N’teren called, as some of the other dragons also successfully produced fire. ‘Tell your dragons to make sure they’re facing away from you and from each other. At this stage, they probably won’t have much control over it. The purpose of these lessons is to allow them to test their capabilities safely on the ground.’

On his third try, Kailarth emitted such a large gout of flame, he startled himself and ended up sitting back on his own tail. Zemianth seemed entranced by the sight and started moving her head around so that she could better view the effect. Herebeth looked very pleased when he managed to sustain a blast for several seconds.

_Look. I am a fire-breathing dragon. I will soon be able to sear Thread from the sky._

_Yes, you will. I’m very impressed._

Following the first lesson, firestone practice became part of the regular training schedule. The aerial drills became more involved too; the formations tighter and the patterns more complex. It seemed to D’gar that the dragons were acquiring an instinctive feel for where they were in relation to their neighbours. When they’d successfully run through several complicated routines, both he and Herebeth felt a great sense of satisfaction.

Autumn brought the first storms and rain, although there were still jewel-bright days in between, like memories of the fading summer. Threadfall continued as normal. This end of the Turn, everyone looked forward to the freezing winter days when intense cold turned Thread to harmless black dust. Some of the older riders talked about a fabled winter, twenty-four Turns ago, when they didn’t have to fly Fall for almost two months.

Each Fall, Valli waved the Wings off. Kadoth remained at the Weyr on support duty. If a fighting dragon was badly injured and unable to land safely, she would help to steady their descent into the Bowl. A queen dragon’s place at the top of the hierarchy meant that she could mentally command the lesser colours, holding them still while healers worked to repair a damaged wing, or to get an injured rider down for treatment.

Valli sat on a portable chair most of the time while Kadoth did her duty. She could still walk with the aid of a stick, but it was clear that the movement hurt her. Her left foot barely lifted off the ground, meaning that she had to be careful not to trip. It was painful to watch.

‘She’s got a lot worse in the last couple of sevendays.’ S’brin commented as Valli climbed slowly up the steps to her weyr, pausing several times to rest.

‘I know. Even the fellis doesn’t work much any more.’ When they helped her, he often prepared the solution and he’d noticed how the healers had increased the dosage.

She took as little as she could get away with. ‘I don’t enjoy the pain but I hate the way that stuff makes me feel. I can’t think straight and I want to sleep all the time. Kadoth doesn’t like it either. She says it makes me all fuzzy and she finds it harder to talk to me.’

Although she still flew with Kadoth to the feeding grounds, it was getting increasingly difficult for her to climb on board, even with assistance. S’brin could lift the weyrwoman up easily enough but he was aware of how much it hurt her and he didn’t like doing it.

Before breakfast, whatever the weather, the two of them went for a run around the lake. D’gar always accompanied S’brin. He didn’t have the same sense of dedication to exercise, but it was still something they could share. It was the day after an easy Fall over Hold Gar; a bright and cold morning, making their breath steam as they ran. The sun climbed slowly above the rim, hardly making any difference to the chill in the air. As they finished their second circuit, D’gar saw a flash of gold on Kadoth’s ledge as the old dragon stretched her wings. The next moment, S’brin turned to him. ‘Kadoth wants us in her weyr, right away.’

She must have sent him the message via Zemianth. They ran across the landing area and up the steps, two at a time, stopping just short of the queen dragon. She seemed solemn this morning and stepped aside to let them through.

Valli was sitting on the edge of her bed, still in her night clothes. Her arms and legs looked painfully thin, D’gar thought.

‘Glad you got here quickly. I can’t feel this leg any more. Can you boys give me a hand?’

‘Of course. What do you want us to do?’

‘Firstly, fetch me some clothes.’

D’gar went over to the niche where her dresses hung. ‘Any preference?’

‘Not a dress, today. Breeches and wherhide. I’ll be riding.’

‘Are you sure that’s wise?’ S’brin asked cautiously.

‘It’s my last chance. If I don’t do it now, then I’ll die here.’ She looked down at the bed with a tortured expression. ‘Neither of us want that.’

D’gar felt a shiver go down his spine. He knew what she meant to do. As he fetched what she’d asked for, his eyes started to fill with tears and as he laid the clothes out next to her, one fell free and splashed onto her hand.

‘Don’t cry, lad. It comes to us all. I’ve had a good life and I want a good death, too.’

‘Aren’t you scared?’ He wiped his face on his sleeve.

‘I’d be a fool if I wasn’t. But I’d rather go on my own terms. It’s the only choice I have left. Now, get me up,’ she said to S’brin.

Dressing was clearly difficult for her, although she only asked for help once or twice, when she couldn’t stand unaided, or get her leg to do as she wanted.

‘Kadoth asks if you can put her neck strap on. We don’t need a full harness today.’ She smiled briefly. ‘That would be a waste of good hide.’

D’gar choked back his tears. When he glanced at S’brin, he saw he was doing much the same.

‘I want you both to promise me one thing. I’ll not see the end of this Pass, so you’ll have to do it for me. Just say a few words on the first dawn of the Interval, in our memory.’

‘I promise,’ S’brin said.

‘You have my word, too.’

‘You’re good lads, both of you. And you’ve got two of the best dragons in this Weyr. Kadoth’s last clutch was a fine one. Now, help me over to her.’

While S’brin supported most of her weight as she hobbled across the weyr, D’gar took the neck strap from its hook. Kadoth lowered her head for him to put it on.

_Thank you. We are grateful._

She’d spoken to him! He knew what an honour that was and thought it deserved some kind of acknowledgement. He stood before the great golden dragon and made a formal bow.

Kadoth crouched as low as she could while S’brin lifted Valli to her place between the last two neck ridges. Once she was there, she took a few moments to recover her breath, then as Kadoth raised herself, looked down on them both and smiled.

It was only a few steps to the front of the ledge. Kadoth spread her wings wide as soon as she had room and with a few strong beats, she was airborne. Beams of light illuminated her golden hide, making her seem to shine like something precious and fragile. D’gar and S’brin watched her ascend rapidly to the height of the Bowl. It looked as if she was flying up to the sun itself. Then, as she flew higher still, abruptly she disappeared _between._

All around the Weyr, dragons raised their heads and keened for the loss of a queen and her rider.


	5. Cold Bargains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Green dragons rise and the clutch learn to fly _between_

Suderoth’s clutch of twenty-three eggs raised everyone’s spirits, coming almost two sevendays after Valli and Kadoth had gone between. One of the eggs had the unmistakeable golden sheen that meant there was a young queen dragon inside.

‘And thank goodness for that.’ Agarra carried on chopping root vegetables, the knife flashing as she worked. Sitting in the kitchen took D’gar back to his younger days. Life had been so much simpler then. ‘That should shut them all up.’

After Valli had gone, it hadn’t taken long for word to get around that he and S’brin had helped her. They weren’t exactly in trouble for it - Valli had, after all, been a weyrwoman and could have ordered them to assist - but D’gar felt cold disapproval radiating from T’ron and several of the other bronze riders when they were summoned to give an account of what had taken place that morning.

‘Are they still bothering you and S’brin?’ she continued, when he stayed silent.

‘A bit.’

‘I know you were both fond of Valli. i’m glad you did the right thing by her.’

‘No-one else seems to feel that way.’

‘They do, only they won’t admit it. The Weyrleader knew she was going to die. Your help just meant it happened a few sevendays earlier and more importantly, she went the way she wanted to.’

‘None of them will want us in their Wing, when it comes to the time.’

‘Nonsense. They’ll have forgotten about it by then. Remember one thing. Weyr gossip lasts less time than a Hatching. Anyway, would you go back and change what you did?’

He looked down at the scarred surface of the ancient table. ‘No.’

‘Well, there you are, then.’

The weather became colder. Each morning, frost made the Weyr white. The edges of the lake turned to ice. In the feeding grounds, herdbeasts huddled together for warmth. The sun took longer each day to rise above the rim and even at midday, cast long shadows and provided only a memory of summer’s heat. For the wing riders, it came as a relief. Many of the expected Falls never materialised; Thread froze to death long before it reached the ground.

Weyrling training continued as usual, with regular patrols and flying drills. The dragons kept warm enough, but D’gar soon found that his feet became numb after a fairly short time in the air, no matter how many pairs of socks he wore. Jumping off Herebeth at the end of each session shocked them back into life and the process of thawing out his toes was slow and painful. He wasn’t alone, though. Many dragonriders suffered from the same problem. Remedies for chilblains were always doing the rounds in winter at the Weyr.

The bright and bitter days gave way to low, grey cloud. An icy wind seemed to promise snow later as they assembled on the landing area after breakfast. No-one else was flying today. Not many dragons were to be seen at all; they were back inside on their heated couches rather than sitting out on the ledges as they did on even the coldest sunny morning. It was similar, D’gar thought, to the day Kadoth’s last clutch had decided to hatch.

N’teren was well wrapped up, with his flying cap pulled down and a scarf around his neck. ‘Today, you’ll be glad to hear, we’re going to learn how to fly _between_. It should be warmer there than it is at the Weyr…’

The rest of his words were lost. D’gar glanced across to S’brin. He shivered, not just from the cold. If it went wrong, then they might not come back. He began to feel sick with nerves.

_Zemianth assures us we will be fine. I know what I need to do. You have studied the theory in classes. Now is our chance to prove how clever we are._ D’gar wished he could share Herebeth’s confidence.

‘Some of you will also be glad to hear that now your dragons are grown enough to embark on this last important stage of their training, they should also be sufficiently mature not to be worried by any sexual behaviour you wish to inflict on each other - or anyone else who’s foolish enough to want to jump into bed with you.’ He looked pointedly at S’brin and D’gar as he spoke. Little did he know they’d already experimented a few times, waiting until their dragons were asleep and trying not to let any excitement bleed through the mental link.

‘Well, that’s a good enough reason to come back in one piece,’ S’brin hissed out of the side of his mouth. ‘Can’t wait to get our clothes off and get my hands all over you later.’

‘Stop it. If I’m thinking about that, how am I going to be able to concentrate on visualising where I want Herebeth to go?’

‘Pay attention, please.’ N’teren fixed them with a steely glare. ‘You’ve all done the theory plenty of times. You’re also aware of the dangers of not getting it right. However, you’re a bright class and I’m confident we'll have a hundred percent success rate just as we did with Loranth’s clutch.’

Everyone was unusually quiet and solemn as they prepared to set off. D’gar checked everything twice, hoping his stomach would settle down. If he’d known what they would be doing this morning, he’d not have eaten so much for breakfast.

‘You all right?’ S’brin asked.

‘No. I think I’m going to throw up.’

‘Well, best do it here rather than in the air. Imagine some poor Holder getting a face full of your scrambled eggs.’

That was it. The mention of what he’d eaten made his stomach heave and he stepped away from the dragons to avoid making a mess where someone might tread in it. Afterwards, he felt no less nervous, shaking slightly as he climbed up Herebeth’s side and settled himself between the last two neck ridges. _I’m sorry,_ he reassured Herebeth. _It’s not that I don’t think we can do it or anything. I always get like this when I’m nervous. I nearly threw up the day I Impressed you._

_Do not worry. I always vomit after chewing firestone. It is nothing to be ashamed of._

By the time they were ready to take off, a few riders and dragons were peering out from their weyrs and several of the Lower Cavern workers had gathered outside the kitchen door. Word spread fast.

D’gar saw Agarra among them and tried to put on a brave face for her. He remembered the summer day he and Herebeth had first flown together, when Valli and Kadoth had cheered them on. He wished they could be here today, instead of somewhere in the middle of black _between_. He couldn’t help but recall how he’d wondered whether frozen corpses remained there forever. No, he had to stop that. It was probably more likely to cause mistakes than thinking about what he’d like to be doing with S’brin when they got back.

The first jump was always from the end of the valley to just above the Star Stones. They’d all seen that landmark from the air often enough that it was imprinted on their minds. In turn, each had to visualise the scene and send it to their dragon. He or she then passed it to N’teren’s Chareth. If the Weyrlingmaster was happy, he would send back a confirmation, then signal for them to make the jump. Just as with the first flights, they went in colour order. That was a relief; it meant there wasn’t too much waiting around. Herebeth circled with the others as Kailarth went first, blinking out as if he’d never existed at all. It seemed a very long time before they saw him reappear over the distant Star Stones; a mere speck against the grey sky. Everyone cheered.

_We are next,_ Herebeth said.

D’gar concentrated on that picture of the Star Stones. Detailed, but not too specific. Forget the watch dragon; he might not be exactly where you remembered. Concentrate on things that don’t change; the shape of the rocks against the sky, Tooth Crag in the background. _Pass that to Chareth, please._

In just a few moments, Herebeth replied, _Chareth says that is fine. On his signal, we jump._

D’gar looked across, waiting, keeping that image in his mind. He saw N’teren give the signal, shut his eyes and said, _go._

Even the chill of a bleak winter day didn’t compare with the utter cold of _between_. It was a cold that seeped into your very bones; it made you feel as if you’d never be warm again. He forgot to count, so intent on keeping that perfect image in his head; their lifeline back to the world. When he felt the wind against his face again and opened his eyes to see Kailarth circling and the Weyr Bowl below, he whooped with joy. _Yes! We did it._

In the next few minutes he discovered waiting for someone else to do something potentially life-threatening was much worse than doing it yourself. As the blue dragons followed - and all reappeared successfully - he began to worry. Then the first of the greens arrived; J’rud’s Zurinth. One by one, each came through. N’teren must be deliberately making S’brin go last; another of those petty slights they’d both experienced since helping Valli. Finally, after an eternity, he saw Zemianth blink out in the far distance. He counted slowly, willing them to re-appear, feeling his heart sink with every passing second. If anything happened to them, how would he manage to go on? Life without S’brin seemed inconceivable; like not breathing. Like black _between_ , cold and empty.

Then, as suddenly as they’d gone, the pale green dragon and her rider emerged. S’brin was grinning as he punched the air. D’gar felt a profound sense of relief and realised he’d been holding his breath until they came back safely. A few moments later, N’teren and Chareth joined them all. He looked as relieved as anyone and called them back into formation for the next part of the lesson.

During the next couple of hours they went _between_ several more times to and from the Star Stones, then finally to Keroon’s Red Butte, a famous landmark traditionally used for weyrling training. By then, everyone was freezing, both from all the _between_ jumps and the weather. They made the final jump back to the Weyr in formation, then descended to the Bowl.

‘Well done, everyone,’ N’teren told them. ‘Get your dragons settled then you can all have the rest of the day to do as you please.’

They made their way back into the barracks to hang up flying straps and to get rid of the bulky wherhide riding gear.

‘Bet I know what you two will be up to,’ T’mudra commented. ‘Just don’t make too much noise and disturb Jassainth.’

‘Disturb you, you mean,’ S’brin said. ‘Don’t worry. I know the ideal place where we can go and not annoy anyone.’

‘As long as it’s warm.’ D’gar was trying to massage some feeling back into his toes, having hobbled all the way from the landing area.

‘It’s lovely. And private.’ S’brin pulled some of the covers off his bed. ‘Come on. I’ll soon make you forget about your feet.’

It turned out to be a plant room, deep under the Weyr, where heat was channelled through ducts to the individual weyrs and the Hatching Ground. As promised, it was very warm.

‘Are you sure no-one comes in here?’

‘Only when there’s a problem with the heating. And even then, no-one gets into this place. I only found it by accident.’ He led the way past a complex network of pipes into a smaller cavern, picking up a glow basket on the way. The walls here were smooth, which meant it dated from the most ancient times, when their ancestors still had the machinery to tunnel through rock. S’brin turned sideways to squeeze through a gap between two huge metal ducts, into a small, rectangular space. ‘Until we have our own weyr this is as private as it gets.’ He unfolded the covers on the floor and spread them out.

D’gar caught him around the waist and pulled him close, then leaned in for a kiss. ‘I’ve missed this.’ They’d had to be furtive and quick while it was forbidden and he’d always been concerned about disturbing the dragons. Now, they could take their time and enjoy exploring each other’s bodies. Even then, D’gar couldn’t help checking on Herebeth. _Are you all right about this?_

_You are happy. Zemianth’s rider is happy. Why should I mind you doing anything that makes you feel good?_

S’brin stopped what he’d been doing. ‘I can’t believe you were talking to your dragon just then.’

‘I just wanted to make sure he was fine with it. Aren’t you concerned about Zemianth?’

S’brin’s eyes unfocussed as he talked briefly with her. ‘She says dragons are much more sensible about mating.’ He grinned. ‘She says why don’t we just get on with it.’

So they did.

The cold weather stayed for a sevenday, then turned to mist and drizzle; the worst possible conditions in which to fight Thread. There were a few bad Falls, when several pairs died, darkening the mood of everyone in the Weyr. Meanwhile, Suderoth guarded her clutch on the Sands and the weyrlings flew _between_ , learning all the major reference points on Pern. The Weyrs first; High Reaches, shrouded in snow and with its spiky crown of seven spires above the Bowl. Next, Benden, a forbidding presence in black and grey rock and almost as cold as High Reaches. Telgar, in the midst of mining country, with the plains below, rich in grain during the summer, but bleak and flat at this time of the Turn. Lastly, the southerly Weyrs; Igen, surrounded by desert and ocean Ista, where the warm, turquoise seas lapped invitingly. They visited the Holds protected by Fort Weyr first, then the other major Holds around Pern. Finally, they began to learn the lie of the land around Fort, Boll and Ruatha Hold, where one day they would fly and fight Thread.

‘Not for a while though,’ N’teren warned them. ‘Your dragons still have some growing to do and we need to slowly build up their endurance. You’ll be on firestone duty and deliveries until the next clutch behind you is ready to take over your duties.’ As there would be a gap of almost a Turn, that meant they’d not be joining a Wing for some time yet.

Just before Turn’s End, a couple of bright, frosty days made several greens ready to rise, R’chol’s Carainth among them. Despite having requested a restricted flight, the chaos of a multiple mating flight meant that she was eventually caught by an older blue dragon.

‘It was crazy,’ R’chol said afterwards. ‘So many riders, all jostling each other aside in the flight cave. There weren’t even enough beds for everyone. I don’t know how anyone knew who belonged with which dragon, but then I don’t remember that much about it at all. Only good thing was, he treated me decently, as much as anyone could in that scrum. And Carainth got what she wanted, so that’s what counts.’

Bets went on as to when Mardra’s Loranth would rise again. It was well over a Turn since her last mating flight and she was still relatively young.

‘Shows that we’re getting closer to the end of the Pass,’ N’teren said. ‘A few Turns ago she was rising every nine or ten months. It’ll be a smaller clutch, too, I’ll put a bet on that.’

As senior queen, Loranth’s flight would be restricted to Wingleaders’ bronzes. Most people expected T’ron’s Fidranth to fly her again; he was a good Weyrleader and the feelings within the Weyr were often sufficient to influence the results.

‘Would that work with green flights, too?’ D’gar asked the Weyrlingmaster. ‘I mean, if you want a certain dragon to win, or lose?’

‘Not enough people care one way or another who catches a green. And if it’s a mass flight like the one we’ve just had, it’s a free-for-all.’

The next green to rise was J’rud’s Zurinth. One of the brown dragons from Suderoth’s clutch caught her after a flight in which there were only five suitors. J’rud seemed relieved. ‘Not as bad as I thought it would be,’ he said later. ‘I knew what was happening - more or less - and so did he. Enough that we didn’t maul each other. Then afterwards, we had a second round. That was pretty good.’

It reminded D’gar of what Valli had said; just after a mating flight, when the dragonlust was still firing you up but had faded sufficiently so that you knew what you were doing was the best time for sex. Some day, he’d share that with S’brin. Just not this time. Herebeth wasn’t yet old enough to be interested in mating; that was a simple fact of life.

Turn’s End passed by. As always, the Weyrleader recited the names of all the riders and dragons lost during the previous Turn. When he got to Valli and Kadoth, D’gar knew that quite a few people in the room were staring at S’brin and himself. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

‘Ignore them,’ S’brin whispered. ‘They can’t do anything to us. It’s what she wanted.’

‘I know. Still don’t like it, though.’ Thankfully, the moment passed quickly as the roll call went on. After the feast and dancing, it was back to normal work the next day. Thread didn’t care about festivities and it was due to fall over Ruatha later in the afternoon.

_Are we flying today?_ Herebeth asked. He seemed to enjoy all the drills.

_I doubt it. I have to go and bag up firestone for this afternoon. You can stay in your nice, warm quarters._

_I want to fly._

_No one’s stopping you if you need to stretch your wings. Just don’t shake the rain off all over me again._

_Zemianth wants to fly, too._

_Well, go on, then. You can get some exercise together._

Herebeth huffed. _She is in a strange mood._

Really? Moodiness was one of the signs that a green was going to rise. Colour change was another, although he didn’t recall Zemianth had looked any brighter this morning. Mind you, in this weather, it probably wouldn’t show that much.

_She is not about to rise. Not yet, anyway._

That was a relief. D’gar had seen the way H’sal and F’nerl eyed up the young riders, as if deciding which ones they were going to put their dragons after. Zemianth might be the next green to rise, even if it wasn’t for a few sevendays yet. He decided to talk to S’brin about opting for a restricted flight, as Valli had suggested.

The firestone sacks were even heavier when soaked. It was a miserable job getting ready for Fall in the rain. ‘Worse when you’re up in it,’ N’teren told them. ‘Especially when it’s like this. Not heavy enough to drown Thread, bad visibility and you end up wet through.’ He would be taking up a couple of the weyrlings from Suderoth’s clutch who hadn’t yet graduated to the Wings, trying to give them an easier introduction to fighting Thread.

‘Why doesn’t he wait until the weather’s better? T’mudra dropped a shovel full of firestone into the sack D’gar was holding open as the Weyrlingmaster walked away.

‘Don’t be daft. They’ll have to ride Fall whatever the weather’s doing, so they might as well learn in the same conditions.’ Sometimes, D’gar wondered if T’mudra ever actually thought much before he opened his mouth. ‘That’s enough in that sack.’ He passed it along to S’brin, who was tying and stacking them.

From out of the grey murk over the Weyr, two brighter shapes emerged. Zemianth and Herebeth were performing a barrel roll together, their wings almost touching. D’gar watched them, full of admiration for the power and grace of his dragon.

‘They fly like they were made for each other.’ S’brin craned his neck upwards as they disappeared into low cloud.

‘Pity Herebeth won’t be chasing her, then.’ T’mudra scraped up another shovel full.

‘Not this time, maybe.’ T’mudra could be so annoying.

‘Doesn’t lover boy mind someone else is going to be having you?’ he said to S’brin, giving a sideways glance to D’gar.

‘Shut up.’ D’gar felt like putting the sack over his head if he carried on. ‘What’s got into you today?’

‘Maybe he’s proddy,’ S’brin suggested. ‘Perhaps Jassainth is actually going to fly for once.’

She was a lazy dragon, who very rarely took to the air for the sheer pleasure of it. ‘She’ll not get very far, fat and unfit like she is.’

‘Don’t call my dragon fat.’

‘Definitely proddy.’ S’brin smiled. ‘So, got anyone in mind?’

‘I’m not bothered.’ He tried to sound casual about it. ‘I’ve asked for a restricted flight, naturally.’

‘Well, you would.’

T’mudra made a face. ‘I don’t fancy having any of those old men after me. Or their dragons chasing Jassainth.'

‘Yeah, because they might catch her, the speed she flies.’ S’brin dumped another sack down. ‘Zemianth won’t let just anyone mate with her. They’ll have to be fast, clever and agile. So I’m throwing it open to give her the best choice. After all, a mating flight’s about your dragon, not you.’

D’gar’s heart sank. This was what he’d feared. ‘It’s fine to ask for a restricted flight, the first time,’ he said. He’d wanted to bring the subject up when they were alone, not like this.

‘And have half the Weyr laugh at you for being timid?’ S’brin shook his head. ‘That’s not for Zemianth or me. She’ll show ‘em.’

‘Are you sure that’s what you want?’ he asked later, after Fall had finished and they were clearing up, alone. ‘To throw the flight open?’

‘You worry too much. I have complete faith in Zemianth’s ability.’

‘You’re bothered about what people will say, aren’t you?’ S’brin shrugged and shook his head in a way which made D’gar realise he was. ‘Don’t let them make your choices for you.’

You don’t understand,’ he said. ‘You’re not a green rider.’

‘Is this to do with all that secret stuff that goes on in your meetings?’

‘No! Just leave it. I’m all right.’

Over the next few days, he thought about the situation and tried to work out who might go after Zemianth. When they were at dinner, or relaxing afterwards he watched to see who was eyeing up S’brin. The usual suspects, obviously; all of those older riders who liked to go after someone new, and young. F’nerl, he decided, wasn’t much of a threat. Zemianth was fast enough and nimble enough to elude a bronze. Besides, he’d caught one of the greens from Loranth’s clutch just two months previously, so no matter how much F’nerl wanted it, his dragon would be less interested. H’sal was a different matter. He’d caught Sh’bul’s Berith back in the summer and D’gar wouldn’t easily forget the state Sh’bul had been in afterwards. There was no way he was going to risk anything like that happening to S’brin.

If S’brin was so heedless of the danger, then D’gar would have to make sure he was safe. Firstly, he tried the official channels. It was the proper thing to do, as befitted a responsible brown rider. He went to see N’teren in his weyr one afternoon, when they’d returned from their drills.

‘In here voluntarily?’ The Weyrlingmaster said with a wry smile. ‘That has to be a first.’

‘Well, yes. There’s something I need to ask.’

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s about S’brin. Zemianth’s first flight. We all know it’s going to happen soon and I’m worried.’

’S’brin doesn’t seem to be.’

‘No, but that’s how he always is. What I’m concerned about is that some of the older riders -‘ he didn’t want to name names, but they both knew who he meant - ‘might take advantage of him.’

‘He’s not exactly a blushing Holdbred lass, is he. He knows what it’s about.’

‘Yes. But no-one can tell how he’s going to be when Zemianth rises. If he’ll even know what he’s doing. Or letting anyone else do to him. I know he’s said he doesn’t want any restrictions, but can’t you talk to him? Persuade him it’s for the best, at least until he knows how he’s going to react. I’ve tried, but he keeps saying he’ll be fine.’

‘Well, I’ve already had “the talk” with him. And he’s attended enough green meetings to know what he’s letting himself in for.’ N’teren sighed. ‘He’s a stubborn one when he has his mind set.’

‘Could you try again, though. Please.’

‘I’ll give it a try. Don’t expect he’ll change his mind, though.’

He didn’t. ‘That N’teren must think I’m an idiot,’ he said, after breakfast the following morning. ‘He wanted to know, yet again, if I was really sure about having an open flight. I’m not a sharding baby. I don’t need looking after.’

‘You don’t want people to think you’re scared, that’s what it is. Well, I’m scared. I’ve seen the way some of those lecherous old men look at you.’

‘Yes, but that’s not to say their feeble old dragons can catch my Zemianth.’

‘They haven’t done too badly catching other greens. Zemianth’s young and fast, but it’s her first flight too, remember. She doesn’t know all the tricks yet. They do.’

S’brin did what he usually did when something was worrying D’gar; practically crushed him in a bear hug. ‘I can take care of things. So can she. I know you’re bothered that Herebeth won’t be in this one, but we’ll have lots of other chances. We’ve got Turns and Turns.’

He needed to get on with plan ‘B’ before Zemianth beat him to it. It wasn’t very responsible at all; yet he’d lived in the Weyr long enough to know that you sometimes had to take matters into your own hands. Like Valli had done, in the end. There was still no guarantee it would work, but if he didn’t try, he’d never know.

It was a rest day; no Fall until late tomorrow afternoon. Most of the wing riders were spending the day lazing around, playing cards, drinking and socialising. The more conscientious were busying themselves cleaning and checking fighting straps. H’sal’s Nalth was on his weyr ledge, watching the Bowl. S’brin was busy with Zemianth, cutting a new set of straps as the old ones had been stretched by some crazy aerobatic manoeuvres he’d been practising with the other greens.

_Can you drop me off at Nalth’s weyr?_ he asked Herebeth.

_Why do you want to see Nalth’s rider?_ Herebeth sounded curious. _He is not your friend._

_No, but I need to ask him something. It’s important. But you mustn’t say anything to Zemianth about it._ He felt bad just asking that. Dragons, however, didn’t understand a lot about human interactions, so it was pointless trying to explain any further.

_What if she asks me?_

_She won’t._ Why did he have to have such a difficult dragon? _Don’t think about it anymore. Just drop me off then go and catch yourself a wherry or something._ That would distract him. Herebeth always seemed to be able to eat more often than his clutchmates, even Jassainth. Mind you, unlike Jassainth, he burned it off flying.

_I could manage a wherry. Or maybe two._

_Good._

Nalth seemed surprised when Herebeth landed beside him. He drew back slightly and snorted. D’gar slid down quickly and sent him away before anyone noticed, watching his dragon turn easily before making his way towards the feeding grounds. Herebeth’s flight was precise and graceful, not at all lumbering like some of the larger dragons.

‘What do you want?’

He turned to see H’sal pulling aside the curtain to the inner weyr. Evidently Nalth had informed him he had a visitor.

‘I’d like to have a chat with you about something. If you aren’t too busy.’ He didn’t look busy. In fact, as D’gar got closer, he smelled alcohol on H’sal’s breath. He was still wearing the same crumpled shirt from the day before and he’d not bothered to shave.

‘Best come in, then.’

He followed H’sal through into the weyr. It was fairly dark; just one glow basket uncovered. A skin of wine and a stained cup was on the table. The bed was unmade. The air smelled slightly musty as if somewhere, food had gone off.

‘Want a drink?’

‘Er, no. It’s a bit early…’ he thought that might sound as if he disapproved, so he quickly added. ‘For me, that is. I don’t really drink much.’

‘That’ll change, once you’re in a Wing.’ He poured himself some more. ‘Sit down, then. you’re making the place look untidy.’

The other chair was covered in dirty clothes. The only place to sit was on the bed. The furs felt slightly greasy as he perched uneasily on the edge of the mattress.

‘So what brings you here?’ H’sal eyed him up in a way that reminded him of how Herebeth looked at food. He didn’t like it much.

‘Well, my friend’s dragon is going to rise shortly. Zemianth.’

He slurped some wine. ‘Pretty, pale green. I know the one. He’s a strapping lad too. Nice body.’

Although he agreed with the description, hearing it from H’sal just felt plain wrong. ’That’s him. Well, I just wanted to find out if you were planning on… if Nalth was… going to chase her.’

‘You and him are weyrmates, aren’t you?’

‘Well, we would be, if we had a weyr. We’ve been together for a couple of Turns now.’

‘Guess you care about him then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hmm. Well, the answer to your question is yes. Nalth’s not caught anything since summer. He’s feeling a bit randy, poor old sod.’

Like his rider, no doubt, D’gar thought. Although the Teaching Ballads said that male dragons needed to chase females occasionally as part of their natural instinct, there was no doubt that some did far more often than others. And although it also said that the decision was down to the dragon, he wondered if that was the whole story. ‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ he said quickly, before he had a chance to back out.

‘Really. Well, that’s up to Nalth. And your… friend hasn’t asked for a restricted flight, so he obviously doesn’t mind.’

‘He’s not thought about it enough.’

‘It’s up to him, though. If he reckons he’s up for it and his dragon is, then it’s no-one else’s business.’

All true. But not what he wanted to hear. Best get to the point. ‘I saw the state Sh’bul was in afterwards. I don’t want that to happen to S’brin.’

H’sal leered. ‘Well, it was the lad’s own fault. He fought a bit.’

‘He was out of his mind.’

‘Some of ‘em are. That’s how it goes.’

‘So don’t you have a duty to be… careful? Kind?’

‘Listen lad,’ he leaned forward, pointing a finger. ‘What goes on in a flight cave can be a bit rough. You’ll find that out for yourself soon enough. And your friend. Still, if you two have been at it regularly, he’ll be good and ready. Probably won’t even hurt him much.’

D’gar wanted to wipe that look off his face. But that wouldn’t help S’brin at all. It might even make things worse.

H’sal must have noticed his look. ‘Oh, I see. You’re the jealous type. Want him all to yourself. Well, that’s not how it works.’

‘I’m not jealous! I know Herebeth won’t be interested this time around and I don’t mind one of the other weyrlings, or a younger rider being with him. I just don’t want…’ I don’t want you touching him, he wanted to say. ‘Don’t want to see him hurt, that’s all.’ Was there any point appealing to H’sal’s better nature? Did the man even have one? Maybe this had all been a waste of time, after all.

H’sal drank some more, then refilled his cup. Smiled slowly. ‘Well, I might be persuaded not to let Nalth fly this time around. See, your S’brin’s a good looking young man, but not really my type. Bit too burly. I prefer ‘em more like… well, like you.’

All of a sudden, the weyr seemed darker. D’gar’s mind raced frantically. He knew he should walk out, right now. Yes, but that wouldn’t help S’brin, would it? And at least he was in full control of his senses. He could agree, or not, to whatever it was H’sal wanted. Yes, but the man was disgusting. Only, if it stopped him going after S’brin… ’How do I know I can trust your word,’ he said.

‘I’ll swear on my dragon’s egg. And if I lie, may Thread get me next Fall.’

‘It was about as serious a promise as anyone could make. ‘Well then, we have a deal. But just this once, mind, as if it was a flight.’

‘Done.’ He spat in his hand and held it out to shake.

D’gar only hesitated a moment. Then he closed his mind off to Herebeth, the way he had when he and S’brin had still not been sure if what they were doing would affect their dragons. ‘So, what do you want to do, then?’

‘You can start by getting your clothes off.’

Afterwards, he called Herebeth. _Come and get me, please. Now._

_You are upset. Why are you upset?_

He must have let something of how he felt through to Herebeth. Unpleasant images flashed across his mind.

_Why did you let that man mate with you? You do not like him._ The dragon sounded distressed in a way he’d never been when he and S’brin had sex.

_It’s complicated._ He finished dressing, trying not to look at H’sal, who was leaning back on his grubby bed, looking content as a feline who’d just raided the larder.

‘Pity you didn’t Impress a green,’ he said. ‘Your weyrmate’s a lucky man.’

D’gar turned on him. ‘Remember our deal.’

‘Don’t you trust me? I had a good time. I’ll honour what I said before. Although, if you fancy doing it again, you know where to find me.’

It would be a warm day between before he ever did that, but he didn’t say so. He turned away and went out to the ledge, waiting for Herebeth. It hadn’t been that bad, really, he told himself. It was only sex, nothing that he hadn’t done before. He just felt dirty.

Thankfully, Herebeth soon arrived. His talons clattered on the ledge, startling Nalth. Herebeth mantled his wings and hissed at the other dragon, who cowered back.

_It’s not his fault. Leave him be._

_His rider hurt you. That makes me angry._

D’gar tried to calm his mind, not to let the strong emotions break through. It’s over now. Let’s get out of here. I want to go to the baths.

Herebeth ferried him down to the Bowl, still obviously confused and upset. He couldn’t just leave it like this. _I’ll try to explain. Would you like it if that dragon caught Zemianth? Mated with her?_

_No. He is not a nice dragon._

_Well, I’ve just made sure he won’t even try. Do you understand that?_

_I think so._

_So, everything’s fine. Zemianth can mate with whoever she wants to._

_That is good. I like Zemianth._ He sounded slightly calmer now.

_How was your wherry?_

_Tasty. The second one was better._

Leaving Herebeth thinking about his meal, he went into the baths. At this time of day, most of the pools were empty. He quickly stripped off and got in to the nearest one. The hot water was soothing. He lay back and floated for a while, staring at the ceiling. Apart from the fact that he’d been fully aware of what was happening, was it that different than what a green rider had to go through every three months or so? They didn’t have much choice, either, as to who they ended up with. Except, in their case, dragonlust meant that they didn’t really have a clear recollection of what they’d been doing. That didn’t apply in his case. All the hot water in the Weyr couldn’t wash away memories.

‘Are you all right?’ S’brin asked for the second time, in the dining hall, later on.

He didn’t feel hungry. He stirred the stew round the bowl. ‘I don’t feel too good, actually.’ That was true.

‘Maybe you’ve caught that thing that’s going round.’

Half of the Weyr were coughing and spewing with some kind of winter sickness. ‘Maybe.’ He kept his head down, looking at the table. He didn’t want to accidentally make eye contact with H’sal, who was sitting with the rest of his Wing, too close for comfort. ‘Think I’m going to go back to the barracks. A good night’s sleep might help.’

‘I’ll be over shortly.’

‘Don’t hurry. Finish your food. I’ll be fine.’ He walked slowly across the Bowl. A light drizzle had begun to fall, matching his gloomy mood. Had it been worth it? Could he really trust a man like H’sal? Maybe he should have thought things through for a while longer before he’d agreed. He knew this was all pointless speculation, but he couldn’t help it, just as he couldn’t help recalling scenes he’d rather forget.

The young dragons were all resting on their couches. Most were sleeping. On his way past, Zemianth opened her inner eyelid and looked at him, her eye whirling a placid blue. He wondered if Herebeth had told her anything; if she’d pass it on to S’brin? If he found out, he’d probably go and do something really stupid, like throw H’sal off his ledge. And if he did, that would be D’gar’s fault too.

He lay down on his narrow bed, wishing he could stop thinking. trying to still his mind and concentrate instead on the soft breathing of the dragons, the patterns in the rocky walls. After a while, he fell asleep.

Some greens turned colour a few days before they rose to mate. Some started to show an interest in other dragons. Some riders became irritable, or amorous as their dragon’s heightened emotions affected their own mental state. The weyrlings had often been told that the first couple of times a green dragon rose, it might happen without much warning. However, it still came as a surprise when three mornings later, as they were about to go for breakfast, Zemianth did.

S’brin was never at his best first thing, so D’gar couldn’t really tell if he was any more snappy than usual. Herebeth was stretching and thinking about food. Zemianth was sleeping deeply, only her tail twitching when abruptly she shook awake and made for the door, in such a hurry she almost pulled the hide curtain off its runners.

‘What’s up with her?’ D’gar asked.

S’brin had an odd expression on his face. ‘She’s… oh. Shards! She’s going to do it.’ He rushed out after her, D’gar following closely.

Zemianth had already taken to the air and was flying toward the feeding grounds. She swept over the pens, picked out a medium sized ovine and broke its neck swiftly. She crouched over the carcass, shrieking and laid its belly open with a talon.

‘Don’t let her eat.’ It was all D’gar could think to say.

S’brin’s eyes were unfocussed. ‘Eh, what?’

‘If she eats, she won’t fly far. Blood only, remember?’

‘Oh, er, yes.’

Zemianth’s head rose, entrails already in her mouth. For a moment it looked as if she’d defy S’brin, then, reluctantly she spat them out, pierced the dead beast’s throat with her sharp teeth and sucked the blood from it. It was only then that she began to glow softly.

Attracted by her growing lust, blue and brown dragons started to launch from their weyr ledges, their riders dropping to the Bowl floor. A few dragons from Suderoth’s clutch and even two of the blues from Loranth’s burst out of the barracks, flying up to station themselves where they could watch her every move.

S’brin laughed. ‘See, told you we’d get a good crowd.’

A couple of bronzes had joined the waiting males. One was a slender youngster, the other was a big, deep bronze dragon; Tiriorth, whose rider was the Wingsecond in ‘C’ Wing. D’gar couldn’t remember the man’s name, although he’d seen him in the dining hall many a time.

Zemianth took her time, looking around at all her prospective suitors as if sizing them up. Some of them shook their wings in impatience. Their riders started to close in on S’brin, but he seemed totally unaware of them.

D’gar realised his mind must be linked with Zemianth to the extent he wasn’t seeing his own surroundings at all. ‘Stay with her,’ he whispered. Maybe it was best not to know what was happening.

It seemed like forever before Zemianth finally made up her mind and launched herself skywards. Her pale green hide appeared almost silvery; she really did look like a miniature Kadoth now, D’gar thought. Almost at once, the male dragons took off after her while several of their riders grabbed S’brin and started to hurry him away toward the flight cave. D’gar knew there was nothing more he could do. At least H’sal had kept his word and was nowhere to be seen.

It was a long flight for a green, particularly a green who had never risen before. Several of the male dragons returned to the Weyr, looking worn out long before she was caught. D’gar watched their riders slinking out of the flight cave, looking equally as defeated. One of them had a bloody nose.

‘Are you all right?’ J’rud came over to stand next to him.

‘Yes.’

‘He’ll be fine, you know. And by next time, you might be in there with him.’

‘Maybe.’ A couple more riders left the cave. One was the rider of the young bronze. ‘Who’s left? Did you notice?’ He’d not been paying enough attention to see exactly who’d been there when they’d swept S’brin away. He’d been more concerned to make sure who wasn’t.

‘Er, M’ta, T’garrin, I’grast. I think that’s it. Wonder if T’garrin put marks on his own dragon to win?’

‘Does it seem like this long when you’re in the thick of it?’

J’rud smiled. ‘Not sure, really. Your head’s up there, with your dragon. After Zurinth took off, next thing I remember is lying in that bed, all sticky. Don’t even recall when my clothes came off.’

‘Lovely image you’ve just put in my head.’

‘Made you smile, though. Oh, look. I think it’s over.’

Two more riders were emerging; T’garrin and M’ta.

‘She’s gone for the bronze,’ J’rud said. ‘Well, who’d have thought. Must have been his lucky day. She could have run rings round him if she’d wanted. Come on, let’s go and get some klah. It’ll be ages before they come out.’

It was half way through the morning before S’brin and I’grast came into the dining hall together. Most of ‘C’ Wing were at their usual table and made a lot of noise, as was always the way. The rest of Kadoth’s clutch - even T’mudra - joined in. D’gar did too, just because that was what you were expected to do. S’brin gave him a quick wave before heading over to the other table.

‘Maybe he’s forgotten about you,’ T’mudra said. ‘Bowled over by a bronze.’

‘Oh, shut up.’ It was customary for a green rider to have a drink or two with the wingmates of whoever had caught his dragon. Still, it wasn’t until S’brin joined them all and put his arm around D’gar that he felt as if life had returned - more or less - to normal.

‘That was all right,’ S’brin said. ‘Don’t know what you were getting yourself all worried about. I told you it would be fine.’


End file.
